


Worth Of A Broken Blade

by Oricalle



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, laegjarn's had it pretty rough, surtr's just the worst huh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19758409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oricalle/pseuds/Oricalle
Summary: Princess Laegjarn has been given a second chance at life, though it's not one she thinks she deserves.Note: On hiatus while I outline Part 2!  Sorry, just want to be sure it comes out well!





	1. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Laegjarn has killed for her father and died for her sister. She doesn't know where that leaves her.

General Laegjarn was alone. Her troops were needed at other points in the castle, and if she had the correct information, this mission was suitable for her to complete alone.

The library of Castle Nifl was a far cry from anything she had ever seen before. A collection of texts, ranging from ancient tomes to neatly rolled scrolls, decorated a variety of shelves. King Surtr had little use for such things, and so her home castle lacked any similar rooms. Still, as she analyzed the room, it wasn’t from the perspective of a scholar, but a tactician, carefully surveying for any spaces in which her enemy could be hiding. The shelves were tall, thick, and too clogged to be easily seen through. Laegjarn stopped to listen for any sounds that would give away her quarry, but the shouting from the battle raging outside the castle and the roaring of rampant flame smothered any quiet noises. She’d just have to handle this carefully.

Unsheathing her blade, Laegjarn held Niu out in front of her, the embers that dripped from the sword’s edge sparking against the pristine white floor. As she approached the first set of shelves, Laegjarn stopped and swung her weapon once on either side. A few sliced pages scattered into the air, soon catching fire and dwindling away from Niu’s destructive touch, but the blade never caught human flesh. She steadied herself and stepped forward once more, nearing the second set of shelves. As her armored boots clanged against the ground, a panicked shout came from just outside the window.

“He’s here! He’s-”

The shout turned into an anguished cry, and Laegjarn knew exactly what had happened to its source. Her father was on his way.

Her pace quickening, Laegjarn reached the third set of shelves. She stopped, looked to the left, and heard the unmistakable ruckus of a pair of greaves rushing her way.

“For the kingdom of Nifl!”

She managed to catch the blade swung at her back with only moments to spare, whirling to face her attacker. The man before her seemed around her age, his youthful face contradicted by an ugly scar running over his nose. His dark hair was unkempt, and his eyes were full of fire and rage. That look was unmistakable.

With a guttural shout, the Niflese knight withdrew a second blade and rushed forward, hacking madly in Laegjarn’s direction. As he flailed, she caught a glimpse of a woman backed up against the far wall, tome in hand.

One thing at a time.

Laegjarn backpedaled, keeping barely out of reach of the knights weapons as he continued to swing unpredictably. Still, noone could fight that way for long, and it became clear that he was slowing down. As he began to pant, she nearly lunged in for a fatal blow, but honed battlefield instincts reminded her that he was not the only foe in the room.

A burst of slicing wind came tearing through the air next to her assailant, and Laegjarn quickly slammed herself against the far bookshelf, leaning as hard as she could to avoid the blades of air. Splinters scattered through the room as the well-kept libary of Nifl became the latest in a string of the day’s casualties. The mage was a problem, but she was quickly running out of room to dodge the swordsman’s blows. Laegjarn had to go on the offensive. She abruptly stopped backpedaling, letting the knight gain ground as she watched his pained stare shift into a grin.

“You’ll never take us alive!”

As he reached an arm up to bring the sword down again, Laegjarn dashed forward, aiming a pauldron at the soldier’s other blade. With an earpiercing twang of metal meeting metal, Laegjarn’s armor chipped, but the second sword was knocked to the ground. Now that his left side was utterly defenseless, Laegjarn twirled, dodging under the downwards strike from the remaining sword and jamming Niu into the knight’s stomach. He screamed, and the mage on the far end of the room cursed.

“Priestess...run…” The knight managed to turn only half of the way to his partner before collapsing in a heap, blood trickling from his mouth as he crashed into a pile of forgotten texts. 

Another assault of wind buffeted forth from the remaining Niflite’s tome, but Laegjarn was prepared this time. With a wave of Niu, one of the blade’s ancient sigils began to glow an ominous red, and the air current was slowed to one that merely tossed the Flame Princess’ hair. She dashed towards her foe, making use of the energy she had conserved during her confrontation with the knight, making it to the Priestess before she could fire another salvo. The woman stood and raised her hands in surrender, dropping her magical weapon to the floor.

Laegjarn raised the tip of Niu to her captive’s throat and spoke plainly.

“Tell me where Princess Guunthra is.”

The priestess was looking her over, seemingly trying to assess Laegjarn as a threat. She gave a sudden gasp as her eyes focused on the gilded horns the princess wore atop her crown.

“You...you’re Surtr’s daughter!”

Niu edged even closer to the priestess’ throat.

“Princess Gunnthra. Tell me where she’s fled.”

“The Princess...she was headed for a fortress to the south. It’s hard to reach, so they took a few carts of supplies.”

“How long ago?”

“A few weeks!”

Finally, she had the information Surtr requested. She sheathed Niu, and the priestess lowered her hands, breathing heavily amidst the unnaturally warm air. 

“Let me go, Princess. I beg of you.”

This was always the most difficult part of a mission like this.

Wordlessly, Laegjarn advanced on the priestess, easily wrapping a gauntlet around the wrist of the smaller woman. She turned and began to march back towards the library’s entrance.

“Let me go. Let me go!”

Struggling now, the priestess fought to break Laegjarn’s grip, but she was no match for the force exerted by the princess of Muspell.

“You can’t do this, you can’t take me to him! Just kill me yourself, please, don’t!”

Laegjarn swung open the door, walking slightly forward before kneeling at the feet of the king of Muspell, Surtr.

Her father was clad in his usual golden armor, holding his beloved axe, Sinmara, high in the air. A slow stream of blood dripped from its edge, and Surtr smiled as Laegjarn approached, his eyes fixed on the captive she brought with her.

“Give her here.”

Laegjarn nodded and pulled the priestess forward, into the waiting hands of Surtr. His sheer size dwarfed both of the women, and he clenched a fist around the priestess’ neck as he raised her into the air.

As she began to burn, her eyes met Laegjarn’s. She looked as if she was full of fear, sadness, hate, and something else.

Disappointment.

As the flames of Surtr’s power encircled his victim, the entire hallway of Nifl Castle followed suit, the fire spreading across the carpet and clawing its way up the walls. The screaming grew louder, impossibly loud, and Laegjarn looked down to see the fire encircling her.

“Father! No!”

Surtr didn’t look at her, focused entirely on the dying priestess in his grasp. Unbeknownst to the king, Laegjarn was now in flames.

“No! No! This isn’t right!”

Her whole body was burning now, every patch of skin she had screaming for relief. Her hair caught light, and the crown was suddenly a molten torture device, dripping across her head. Laegjarn was screaming now, and Surtr was only laughing.

The priestess weakly turned to face Laegjarn as she collapsed to the floor, the flames starting to obscure her vision now. The dead spoke to the dying, and her words were somehow entirely clear.

“You brought this on yourself.”

Princess Laegjarn awoke screaming, only stopping when she realized that she was not inside of Castle Nifl. This was a different palace, that of Askr, and she was resting in the room granted to her as a member of the Order Of Heroes. Slowly, reality came back. The war between Muspell and Nifl was over, and she had been one of its final casualties. After her father’s death, her spirit had been pulled back by Breidablik, and she had taken up arms as a member of the former enemy’s army. Much to her surprise, she was welcomed, given a place to stay, and told that she needn’t fear Surtr any longer.

The nightmares had begun on the very first evening. The details varied, but the end was always the same. A terrible, flame-tinged death, followed by an awakening alone in her chambers. The woman in that dream had been real, as had the knight, and the way she had slaughtered them both.

This, Laegjarn assumed, had to be part of Death’s punishment for her, and it was one she had accepted.

Wobbling to her feet, Laegjarn walked across the room, taking a moment to get used to slippers in place of iron boots and a nightdress in lieu of a suit of heavy armor. There was little to get caught on, thankfully, given that she kept the room rather simple. Just a bed, a trunk for her weapon and armor, a wardrobe, and a wooden desk, where she sat and opened a small leather-bound journal. Quietly, she thumbed through to the newest blank page and made a note.

“Nfl Nite

Nifl Pristes”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Laegjarn quickly assumed a defensive posture. However, no one burst inside. There was simply a second knock, and the princess slowly relaxed her muscles. This castle was a safe location, full of Heroes, not killers. Aside from a few, of course. She walked to the front of the room and pulled open the door.

The man standing in the hall was familiar to her. Carefully clipped gray hair framed his face, and he stood completely straight. Clearly his advanced age had not slowed him down too much, as muscle was still evident within his wrinkled flesh, and his eyes were as sharp as any she’d ever known, especially at this hour. She struggled to recall his name, trying to pull from snippets of conversations she’d barely overheard.

“Hello, Jagen.”

The old warrior nodded curtly, his eyes surveying the room beyond her.

“Good morning, Princess Laegjarn.” He looked her in the eyes and spoke clearly. “I heard screaming coming from your chambers. I sleep in the room left of yours, you see.”

This was something she should have known, presumably. She felt a tinge of guilt at not even knowing the man she was just feet away from at most hours of the day.

Laegjarn nodded, shaking herself awake a little more.

“I apologize, sir.”

She racked her brain, trying to dig up an excuse. That was something she did have a little experience with. A white lie or two when she was young could sometimes divert Surtr’s ire from Laevatein, saving her little sister from one of his flaming rebukes. Thinking about Laevatein was comforting, but the memory of Surtr stopped the feeling from ever truly reaching her.

“I awoke and was unsure of my footing. I slipped and fell, and in my shock, I suppose I must have screamed.” 

Jagen nodded, giving no sign of if he believed her story. “Oh my. I’m sorry to hear that, Princess. But everything is alright now?”

“Yes. It was just a surprise. I’m sorry if it woke you, it won’t happen again.”

To her surprise, the old man laughed, and for a moment she thought he was about to discredit her lie. But he was smiling, and simply said: “Oh, no, you needn’t worry about me. I wake a few hours before sunrise anyway, Princess Laegjarn.”

With a yawn, he stretched out his arms, his fingers reached towards the vaulted ceilings of Castle Askr. “At my age, you know how it is, I’m sure.”

Desperate to move the conversation away from her scream, Laegjarn spoke without thinking. “I wish I did, but there are very few elderly people in Muspell.”

The smile fell from Jagen’s face, and Laegjarn’s own heart followed suit, a chill creeping over her back as she realized she’d said something upsetting. The many reasons for Muspell’s low life expectancy ranged from the unforgiving weather to the murderous whims of her father, and Laegjarn could suddenly sense the crown she had proudly placed on her nightstand from over her shoulder.

It proclaimed: “I am the Princess of Muspell, servant of Surtr, and I am responsible.”

She cast a worried glance at Jagen.

“I do apologize, that was inappropriate of me.”

The knight shook his head, and Laegjarn felt her pulse slowly returning as his weathered lips curled up into a smile.

“It’s quite alright. I’ve never been one to stand on ceremony. If you’d like to get to know your first old man, I’ve brewed a pot of tea, and you’re welcome to join me in the kitchens.”

The offer was kind, genuine, and utterly alien to Laegjarn. She had nothing against Jagen, but she couldn’t risk socializing more than strictly necessary. Better that the version of her the Heroes saw in battle was the one fresh in their minds. Better that she didn’t intrude on their lives. Better because if Guunthra arrived…

“I’ll have to pass.” She forced a yawn, shaking her head and running a hand through the red shock of her bangs. “I need to return to sleep, I’ve got a mission around midday.”

Stepping back from the door, Jagen nodded.

“Both understandable and commendable, Princess. Best to always stay in fighting shape.” He began to leave, taking a few steps down the hall before making a sudden about-face. “However, should you ever find yourself awake at this hour and in need of someone to speak with, my door is open.”

Another polite offer, but not one she ever planned on accepting.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Laegjarn lied. “Goodbye, Sir Jagen.”

“Sleep well, Princess.”

As Jagen began to march further down the hall, Laegjarn closed the door, turned the lock, and retreated to her bed. She didn’t sleep again, instead trying to think of Laevetain as a curtain of flame danced before her eyes, the anguished cries of the dying drowning out all other sound.

She could have sworn she heard her own, and tried to let that pained scream resonate in her mind. Out of all the slaughtered who infested her thoughts, this was the only ghost who deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to do the one quick fic about Laegjarn's death, but then whoops my hand slipped and here's a planned multi-chapter story about atonement and learning to love yourself when you don't believe you deserve it! Oops! 
> 
> I'm not planning on any romance in this, fair warning, but if it happens I'll update the tag.
> 
> edit: it happened because I literally couldn't hold myself back from shipping Laeg and Gunnthra for one chapter, i'm awful, sorry
> 
> Comments are always welcome and always make my day, so feel free to leave me any feedback you have! I love reading it, and I hope I can produce something worthy of your time with this story.
> 
> 7/12 Edit: Heads up! I added some new tags for plotpoints that are to come later, as well as the Major Character Death one because our Main Character died, and it's going to be discussed. Just want to make sure nobody gets caught off guard <3


	2. Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Struggling to acclimate to her new station, Laegjarn tries to come to grips with her past. The first step may be to consult an unexpected advisor.

One Week Prior

Laegjarn’s last memories were a blur. She remembered a pulsing sense of power, accompanied by a supernatural blaze. She remembered spears, knocking her from the saddle of her wyvern and pinning her to the ground. She remembered fear, as the inferno churning in her gut spread to her head, the room growing dark as her eyesight left her. She remembered a peaceful voice, comforting her as she lay dying. Most of all, she remembered Laevatein, waiting somewhere deep within, and a last desperate prayer that her little sister would survive.

She remembered a vast and empty expanse, and wondered if that was the end of it. She didn’t know how long she waited there, floating, the last embers of life flickering away.

The light was new.

A light had entered her vision, which she was nearly certain she no longer had, but she could have been mistaken. Shaped like a ball, the mysterious orb was floating through the void, somewhere she couldn’t reach. It hummed gently as it soared, carving a path through the blackness before her, and emitted a gentle beeping sound as it turned to float towards whatever was left of the Flame Princess. It touched her hand first (She suddenly realized that this was her hand again), returning the sensation of touch itself before filling her entire being with a calming glow. She felt as if a blanket had been suddenly wrapped around her, and wondered if this was the afterlife coming to claim her. The light from her body soon began to radiate outwards, until the deep and dark expanse was overtaken by a flood of blinding light.

The next thing she knew, Laegjarn was standing. Her body had returned, and her senses flared back to life. The chamber she was in was filled with stone altars, chipped and beaten at by the forces of time. She could smell baked bread from somewhere below, and hear a distant discussion from the floor below her. Staggering slightly at the sudden sensory overload, her gaze fell on a trio of people standing in front of the dais she was standing on.

One of them wore a hood over their face and held a mysterious device in their hands. It glowed with a very familiar light, and judging by the way they casually held the thing, they were adept in using it by now.

To their left was a man who looked slightly younger than her. He had wavy blue hair and was covered with clothing that bore the sigil of Askr. Something about the look in his eyes worried her. The blonde woman rounding out the group had a very similar outfit to the man, and her expression was positively beaming.

“Princess Laegjarn!”

She was screaming now, and rushing up the stairs. Laegjarn tried to grab for Niu out of instinct, but she had not yet gotten used to her body again, and found herself nearly tumbling over before the woman embraced her.

“Wh-what?”

“That’s enough, Sharena, give her some room.”

The man’s face had softened to a cautious grin, and suddenly the flood of memories hit her like a mace to the stomach. This was Prince Alfonse, which meant the woman wrapped around her midsection had to be Sharena, and the hooded figure was…

“Have I-”

The words came out like a croak, and Sharena backed away as Laegjarn hacked and wheezed, trying to acclimate to being able to speak again.

“Have I been summoned, then?”

Sharena looked up, nodding.

“Princess Laegjarn, you are in Castle Askr. We just conducted a summoning ritual, and it appears you have been called to Breidablik.”

Slowly, cognizant thought was returning, and Laegjarn put the pieces together. If this was Castle Askr, she had to be amongst the Order Of Heroes. If she had been summoned, than the memories of her death were likely real. Bested and brought to enemy territory. She knew what came next.

Laegjarn put her hands up, dropping Niu and its scabbard to the floor. She remembered her training and looked Alfonse in the eye as she spoke.

“Prince Alfonse of Askr. I am Princess Laegjarn, daughter of King Surtr, and general to the army of Muspell. You have bested me, and I would ask for no preferential treatment. If I am to be tortured, know that I will not surrender any information. Before proceeding to my execution, I would ask that you notify my sister, so that she knows-”

The look on Alfonse’s face was one of utter horror, with his lower lip seemingly attempting to slide off his chin. Sharena wasn’t faring much better, eyes wide as smooth stones, and although she couldn’t see the summoner’s face, their posture indicated that something was very wrong.

“Princess…” Alfonse spoke, covering his face with a hand. “I don’t think you’re understanding why you were brought here. Breidablik doesn’t...round up prisoners. It seeks out powerful souls and brings them here as Heroes. This being the Order of Heroes, we have an offer for you.”

As she realized what Alfonse was saying, Laegjarn gasped, looking wide-eyed at the young Askran prince. “Truly? But I was your enemy.”

“The war is over, Princess. And if half of what I’ve heard about your abilities from your sister is true, we would be lucky to have you amongst our ranks.”

Laegjarn’s stomach was churning, and for a moment she feared she would vomit. None of it felt right. She didn’t understand what these people wanted, why she was alive again, or what exactly they were asking. But refusal, it seemed, would get her nowhere. Best-case scenario, back to the unconscious rest of death? A name pounded against the walls of her skull, screaming that there was still information to gather.

“Laevatein?”

Sharena raised an eyebrow, offering a hand to Laegjarn to steady her. She didn’t take it.

“Queen Laevatein is in Muspell. I’m sure she will be overjoyed to hear you’ve come!”

That was something. A foothold in this strange new life, a reason to persist. Laevatein’s smile was one of the rarest treasures in the world, and if she had a chance to protect it…

“I will fight with you.”

\----

Present Day

A stern voice cut through the air, overpowering both blustering winds and the wingbeats of a pair of wyverns.

“Stay on my tail. It’s a straightforward route to the fortress, but it’s easy to get lost in unfamiliar skies.”

Laegjarn gripped the reins of her wyvern tightly and nodded in response, a gesture she realized was likely foolish, given that she was facing the other rider’s back. Minerva was astride a wyvern of her own, a decorated axe slung across her back. She barely held the reins on her own mount, not even bothering to steer.

“How is Plume treating you?”

Shocked by Minerva’s question, Laegjarn tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

The crimson haired woman slowed, falling back to fly only slightly ahead of Laegjarn. She turned her head and affixed the newcomer with a withering look. “Your wyvern. Did you not know his name?”

“Oh.” Laegjarn shook her head, confused by both the sudden question and the aggressive insinuation. “I suppose I didn’t. I was just assigned him last week.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the Macedonian princess, if not please her. “I see. Did your former wyvern have a name?”

“No. Muspellian riders do not name their mounts.”

It was a combat stratagem decreed by her father. Surtr believed that his soldiers would fight harder and take more risks if they were not attached to their warbeasts. She thought briefly of her last mount, an ebony-scaled mother drake that had served her for several years. The last she saw of it, it had been fleeing from the Order’s attack on Castle Muspell as she lay dying. Given that she hadn’t thought about her in this long, she wondered if Surtr had a point.

Princess Minerva nodded in response, but her air of disapproval didn’t change. She shrugged. “If that is your liking. But that wyvern is named Plume. I helped raise him for the Order, and I must ask you treat him well.” Her upper lip curled, and Laegjarn could see the glint of her teeth beneath her well-kempt red hair. “If you don’t, I’ll feed you to his brothers.”

This was more familiar. Laegjarn nodded, her eyes wandering to the back of her wyvern. “I understand, Princess Minerva. I shall care for him.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, as if to correct something, but seemed to think better of it. Wordlessly, she pulled forward once more, and the two riders were silent for the remainder of their journey.

As the fortress finally came into view, Minerva entered a slow dive. Laegjarn watched closely as the wyvern seemed to guide itself towards the flat stone roof, landing on the western edge. Carefully, she directed her own mount to follow, squeezing it with her heels and driving it downwards. It let out a soft grumble, and she felt a rush of guilt, briefly picturing Minerva’s glare. “Apologies.”

After landing, she proceeded down the stairs into a large, circular room. There were a pair of tables inside, and she could see Minerva settling down next to a man with a rigid expression and chestnut colored hair. At the other, an armored knight and a bowman were sitting before a strange board. The bowman was excitedly moving a piece around, while the knight stared at him blankly, seeming more than a little annoyed. She didn’t want to bother Minerva any further, so Laegjarn slid in next to the knight.

As soon as she did, she noticed the bowman’s eyes on her. He looked her over, narrowing his eyes.

“Princess Laegjarn. You’re on our side, then?”

The question sounded playful, but his expression was anything but. He seemed poised to strike, should she not answer correctly. Laegjarn couldn’t blame him, given where he’d likely last seen her.

“Don’t be such a dick, Innes.”

Evidently, though, the knight could. She rolled her eyes at her companion and turned to Laegjarn, extending a rather massive gauntlet.

“Name’s Effie. That’s Prince Innes. I’d tell you he gets better when you get to know him, but…”

Innes made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff with his mouth. His arms were crossed now, and he didn’t let up with his gaze. Laegjarn continued to study him, trying to think of a way she could clarify that she meant no harm.

“I mean no harm.”

Innes made the noise again, and she felt rather dejected. The other woman flexed the fingers on her outstretched hand, creating a series of metallic clangs from the gauntlet.

“Really, don’t mind him. Put her here.”

Laegjarn stared.

“Shake my hand.”

“Oh.” She did, and tried to ignore the snicker from Innes. Effie turned again, snarling at the man across the table.

“Keep being mean to her and I swear, I’ll crush that bow into pulp and feed it to you.”

The chuckling stopped, but Innes’ expression didn’t change. Effie smiled, though, and looked at Laegjarn warmly.

“This is your first day of watch duty then, right? Did Robin give you the lowdown on what we do here?”

“Yes. We are stationed here to keep watch for invading Emblan forces, perform combat operations if necessary, and relay any urgent information back to Castle Askr as quickly as possible.” She could recall what the tactician had told her as if she had the orders written on her palm. Better, in fact. Years of a general’s education had afforded Laegjarn a fantastic memory for the details of commands. Even Innes seemed impressed, but only slightly. Effie laughed, a deep booming sound, and nodded.

“Yeah, you got it. But you know what that basically translates to?”

Effie swept an arm to indicate the rest of the room. The man at the other table was holding a notepad, and Minerva was hunched over a canvas, scowling at something below her. 

“So long as the Emblans don’t start whacking away at our door with a hammer, we’re pretty much on leave for the day. Not bad, huh?”

In truth, Laegjarn would have preferred anything to keep herself busy. Idleness, she’d found, wasn’t good for her anymore. Without something to do, she started to retreat inside herself, and that wasn’t a place hospitable for anyone right now, especially not herself.

“Not bad.”, she lied. Effie gave her another smile before returning to looking at the board that sat between herself and Innes. “Hey, it’s my move, ain’t it?”

“It is. Although you may as well concede now…” He smirked. “I’ve been setting this up since my third move.”

“Shit.” Effie sighed and tossed her hands in the air. “Alright, that’s four wins for you and one draw for the both of us today.” Perhaps noting Laegjarn’s confused stares at the board, she spoke to the princess again.

“It’s chess. Do you know how to play?”

Laegjarn shook her head, and Innes leaned forward in his seat, giving her a baffled stare as he began to reset the game pieces on the board.

“Really? A royal-born tactician like yourself doesn’t know chess? I assumed that was a mainstay of noble families, even across worlds.”

“My father was not your typical king.”

Innes bit his lip. “Ah, yes. I should have guessed former King Surtr would have no taste for strategic puzzles beyond a question of if something was flammable.” The mention of her father by name seized Laegjarn’s heart, sinking claws of foreboding into her chest, but she kept the emotion masked, simply nodding in response to Innes as he continued to speak. “We’re in the middle of a first-to-five match here, so I suppose I could show you the basics after I win once more, if you’re curious.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Effie was beaming again. “I’ll bet you’d be a natural! Can’t believe Prince Innes had a good idea today, nobody’s going to believe this!”

Innes chuckled. “Oh, shut up and play.”, he returned, paying no attention to the way Laegjarn fidgeted in her chair. Suddenly feeling less than comfortable at this seat, she stood and walked over to join Minerva’s table. She knew the red-haired princess didn’t want to be her friend, but that was better than someone who did.

Minerva was still hunched over the page, her eyes alight with rage as she carefully dragged a stick of charcoal over it. As Laegjarn joined her, Minerva recognized her arrival with a quick nod before snarling and looking up at the man at the other end.

“Frederick! I may need your assistance.”

Without looking up from his book, Frederick shook his head. “My apologies, Princess Minerva, but I have much more to catalog before I can assist you today.”

Minerva’s face fell, turning her usual impassible scowl into a dejected pout. “Ugh. Maria’s going to hate this.”

“I’m sure that’s false,” Frederick retorted, still not looking up. “Your little sister adores you. She’d fawn over a slab of wood if you said it was cut by your axe.”

“You have a little sister?”

Both the Heroes looked surprised to hear Laegjarn speaking up. Minerva seemed a tad annoyed, though perhaps that was just her default setting, while Frederick leaned more on the side of shock.

“My humble apologies, Princess Laegjarn!” He reached across the table and enthusiastically shook Laegjarn’s hand, giving her no time to shy away from it. “I am Sir Frederick, of Ylisse, and I bid you welcome to the Southbluff Fortress.”

He was smiling at her, so Laegjarn responded with a smile of her own, hoping it was at least good enough to get him to stop doing it. Minerva spoke up again.

“Indeed, Maria is my little sister. Yours is Queen Laevatein, correct?”

“It is.” She paused, knowing she’d almost certainly regret the question forming on her lips. “May I see what you’re drawing?” It came out anyway.

Shifting her chair, Minerva scooted over so Laegjarn could examine the canvas over her shoulder. An odd pillar was depicted on it, drawn to have flecks of magical energy radiating off the top.

“Maria’s become interested in art. I told her I’d try to draw her a tree, but this is as far as I’ve come.” She furrowed her brow at the tree-pillar, enraged at her own mistakes. “Sir Frederick here is an accomplished artist, but he’s too busy filling the correspondence with nonsense to agree to assist me.”

“Hey!”, objected Frederick, “I am simply including pertinent observations! Today’s weather patterns could be crucial clues to divining the Emblan’s favored days of attack through pattern recognition. You would deprive the order of this information?”

“I would!”

Laegjarn stepped in before a fight could break out. “Princess Minerva, I have some experience with charcoals.”

It was true, she’d sketched many a battle plan upon the rocks of the Muspell wilds, the walls of rebel-occupied fortifications, and once in the ruins of a Nifl village. It hit her out of nowhere, the memory of charred homes and terrible stench of mass pyres. Under her supervision. She could have stopped it, could have put an end to it, but now-

“Ah! Lovely.” Minerva passed her a stick of charcoal. It dangled limply between her fingers. “Please help me sketch this out, I’m sure Maria won’t mind!”

Now the same hands that had shattered so many families were drawing a present for an innocent girl. Her befouled hands would contaminate it, let her wretched cruelty and cowardice seep into the canvas, forever give the drawing a terrible secret, one she didn’t even know if Minerva was aware of. She couldn’t have known, only Laegjarn knew the depths to which she had sunk, and she hated herself for it. Still, she drew, letting the sins rake across her skin, but only in her head, and the finished tree looked no different than a normal one.

“My, well done!”

Frederick was peering over the page now, joining Minerva. “It seems that you have a talent for this, Princess!”

“Indeed.” Minerva smiled for the first time, and Laegjarn was taken aback by how much more pleasant she could appear when she wanted to. “That will make for a fine example for me to try and imitate. Thank you, Princess Laegjarn.”

“You’re welcome.”

I’m sorry.

Early the next morning, Sir Jagen of Altea was sitting in his room, watching the moon descend on the horizon. The faint light illuminated his sparsely-decorated room, and he sipped from the teacup in his hands. A sudden knock at the door surprised him, nearly making him spill his drink. Slowly, carefully, Jagen stood, forcing his old muscles to keep working, and he made his way to the door. When he opened it, Princess Laegjarn was there. She had a journal in her hands, which crossed over her chest, and she looked thoroughly like she wished she was anywhere else.

“Good morning, Princess. Did you have a request of me?”

Laegjarn sighed and hung her head.

“Sir Jagen, I have a favor to ask. You are of course free to decline.”

“I don’t think I will before I’ve at least heard it.”

She fidgeted in place, her finger tapping lightly against the cover of the book. She closed her eyes, letting the hair frame her face as it pointed towards the ground.

“Will you teach me to read and write?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don't expect this to update as quickly in the future, though, I'm just staving off my feral 3 Houses hype...
> 
> Feedback is super welcomed and appreciated!


	3. Fledgling Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting to learn, making a connection.

“Tell me about how you grew up.”

Simple questions always had a habit of sending Laegjarn’s thoughts into spirals. This wasn’t new, she could remember it happening since her memories began, but it almost seemed to be getting worse after her death. 

That was an entirely separate problem. She would focus on the other one for now.

She thought of Castle Muspell, a towering gray fortress over a red rock outcropping. She thought of the way the lava hissed in the distance during quiet nights, and the shrieks of slate wyverns locked in aerial combat outside of her bedroom. She thought of the way she slept with a pillow pulled over her head, to drown out hearing the screaming coming from Surtr’s hall, and how she still found herself doing it in Castle Askr.

She thought of training, hours spent in the armory hefting weapons too large for her, too old for her. Scrapes across arms and calluses covering tiny palms. She thought of tactics lessons, spending hours listening to the lectures of Muspell veterans, then repeating them back to her father as he glared with crimson eyes. She’d never forget the first time she heard a grown man whimper, a battle-scarred wyvern-rider who had taught her the basics of mounted combat under Surtr’s watchful eyes. She thought it was funny, then, but now she knew better. 

She thought of her first kill, at age 10, a thief trying to pilfer from her bedroom. The guards had easily subdued him, but Surtr insisted she strike the finishing blow. It took her several minutes to stop sobbing and plunge her blade into his heart. Surtr had snarled in her face.

“No hesitation.”

Killing the rebel commander took her half the time. The thieving attendant a third. After that, it was instant, but Surtr never stopped reminding her.

“No hesitation.”

She thought of all of these things, but when Jagen asked her the question, she had trouble finding an answer. She rested the heels of her hands on his desk and pressed her thumbs into her forehead.

“My childhood was...hard.”

The old knight responded with a nod, seemingly deciding not to push the topic any further. He held up a pad he had been writing on, which was covered in familiar symbols scrawled in his careful handwriting.

“We’ll start with the basics. Do you know the alphabet?”

She nodded, feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks as she considered how childish she must have seemed in this moment. “Most of it.”

Literacy was not required for a General of Muspell. In the deadly heat, it wasn’t unheard of for unsecured paper to be set aflame easily, so the army relied on oral communications and the rare trained messenger. As General, Laegjarn had held those elusive orders before, often poring over them in her tent after hours. The topic fascinated her, but messengers could be executed for sharing their secrets, even with the crown princess. So her learning was slow, self-taught, and not entirely accurate. She could identify common patterns, sometimes sound out what the words may have been, but it was never an exact science.

Jagen was standing next to her now, and he carefully slid the sheet of paper in front of her. “Why don’t you go down this list and try to make these sounds. We’ll need to establish a baseline.”

She flushed deeply again, her proud spirit hissing curses at her for failing this way. Quickly looking back up at Jagen, she tried to stem the tide of self-loathing and fear with a clarification.

“Please, promise me you will tell no one of this.”

His lips pressed together.

“Noone would judge you, Princess Laegjarn. I think they would pity you, in fact.”

“I want neither.” The response was quick, spit back almost like a reflex. She slowly realized that she was now gripping the pen harder than before, muscles in her right arm tensed. “I’m sorry, what I meant was-”

Her mentor shook his head.

“I understand. Shall we continue?”

The next half hour was spent making her way through each letter. Some she was correct about, able to easily identify the sounds a P or an R alone would make. Others took a few minutes of practice, especially vowels. The difference between the “AR” in Marth and the same combination of letters in Ares utterly baffled her, but Jagen assured that it was all a matter of practice. “To be honest, I’m not even sure about that one.” he had quipped, and then nearly laughed himself into a coughing fit. When the sun was beginning to rise outside of the window, he presented her with a blank sheet of paper and sat back on his bed.

“Write your name.”

She winced. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

“Did you know if you’d be able to mount a wyvern the first time you tried?”

She thought. “I didn’t.”

“Well, just do what you did back then.”

She tried.

“Laygyarn”

As her mentor read over the paper, she watched his face. Jagen betrayed no emotion before handing it back.

“Well done. Almost. Muspellian names are tricky, I hear, Princess Fjorm had to give me a lesson when I was performing correspondence during the war.” Seemingly noting the blush on her cheeks, his expression softened.

“Go for it again, you don’t quite need the Ys.”

“Legarn”

“Nearly there.”

“Legyarn”

“You’ve just got to figure out those Muspell spellings now. There’s a “J”.”

“Laegjarn”

The fourth time she pressed the sheet of paper, now covered in scratched out attempts, into Jagen’s hand, he smiled wide and nodded up at his student, beaming a little.

“Well done, Princess. You’ve succeeded.”

Her heart soared, for a moment, a secret goal she had harbored for years finally reached. That ecstasy was choked, however, by a mocking voice that seemed to come from inside of her chest.

“You can perform an action everyone expects of you anyway. Well done, you monster.”

With her excitement now appropriately tempered, she turned to gather the journal she had brought with her, nodding at Jagen as she began to leave.

“Thank you, Sir Jagen. I hope you would be willing to continue my lessons. I swear to find you some form of compensation.”

“Bah!” The old man, and he truly looked like one now, waved his hand at her, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “The companionship is enough! Prince Marth can’t visit all the time, you know. I bid you good day, Princess.”

In truth, Laegjarn realized, as she finished getting dressed in her room, she didn’t know what to do today. Often when not on missions, she stayed in her room, but some words from the previous day’s excursion to Southbluff Fortress stuck with her. Resigning to discover her way to the stables herself (she had asked for enough help for one day, her pride assured her), she set off in search of a wyvern.

Despite the sheer size of Castle Askr, it’s not too hard to find the wyvern stables. As elegant and awe-inspiring as their riders often find them, there are very few who will compliment the way they tend to shriek and howl. Simply taking the longest route possible lead Laegjarn to a wooden palisade embedded in the ivory colored wall, sticking out like a sore thumb. Behind it, she can already hear squawking, and as she opens the door, she finds exactly what she had expected. The massive barn is separated into rows of enclosures, with a wide space between them to facilitate easy movement. She’s never been here before, typically one of the other Heroes gathers the mounts before a mission, but prior experience makes it easy enough to navigate. For all the strange ways of Muspell, they did at least make these sorts of buildings the same way. Each door has a placard in front of it naming the beast inside, but Laegjarn found that less than helpful. So she wandered, listening carefully to the sounds at each door. While wyverns are obnoxiously noisy, it’s not without reason. Each of the creatures has a unique call, and she slowly tried to match them against the one she remembered from the day before. The wyvern had let out a shriek when she kicked it, she recalls, and that sound remains fresh in her mind as she traverses the stalls.

About five enclosures down, she finds a match. She hopes.

Placing a hand on the knob and jiggling the lock free, Laegjarn pushed open the door and came face to face with a familiar black drake. It was sitting in a corner of its pen, munching lazily on a small pile of meat. As it leaned in to sniff at her, Laegjarn reached a hand up, patting it on the nose.

“Easy. Easy...Plume?”

Plume squawked and beat his wings, the sudden gust it creates nearly knocking Laegjarn off of her feet. The wyvern turned its head away and goes back to its meal.

“I did not intend to upset you.”

Plume doesn’t respond to her very human apology, and Laegjarn feels a little silly for even trying. She approached him once more, putting two hands on his head and rubbing slowly. The wyvern squawks again, but quieter than before. That’s a good sign. Behind her, a door opened, and wyvern and rider both pivoted their heads to look.

Minerva was standing there, her scarlet hair done up in a bun on the back of her head. She wore a simple cloth shirt and raggedy set of pants, both with plenty of odd stains. Despite her casual appearance, Minerva’s gait was nothing short of royal as she approached Laegjarn, nodding approvingly.

“Well, you came to pay him a visit! Kind of you.”

A sound that was distressingly similar to a purr came from Plume as he extended his neck, resting his head before Minerva. She chuckled and began to massage his snout, still watching Laegjarn as she worked.

“It was the least I could do,” Laegjarn responds. Warily, she looks Minerva in the eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to have me made into a meal, Princess Minerva.”

To her surprise, Minerva laughs, digging even harder into Plume’s outstretched snout. “I think that’s a fate you’ll avoid, don’t worry.” After a few moments of silence, she stops laughing, looking Laegjarn in the eyes while tilting her head.

“You...you didn’t think I was serious, did you?”

Laegjarn was silent. Minerva’s eyes widened, but she didn’t pry any further. For a few moments, silence reigned over the enclosure, only occasionally undercut by the wyvern’s groans and yelps of approval. 

“Did you know I helped select the wyvern you’d use?” Minerva tried to make conversation, if only to push away the stifling silence. Laegjarn shook her head, leaning in to scratch under Plume’s chin.

“In truth, it was mostly Cherche, she’s the official wyvern master for the Order. But she seems to hold my opinions in high regard, and wanted my input on which of our unclaimed mounts we would assign to you after your summoning.”

“Why did you choose Plume?”

“Because he’s a little bastard, honestly.” With a laugh, Minerva playfully tugged on one of the wyvern’s ears. “He won’t let a novice ride him, and even some of our vets get a little annoyed at how he likes to buck. But he’s fast, strong, and clever. So I figured someone with your degree of experience could handle him. You did almost take my head off once, you know.”

Nearly choking on her own gasp, Laegjarn swiveled her head to face Minerva, playing with her wyvern now an afterthought.

“I did what?”

Minerva smirked, as if this was something completely normal and utterly unworthy of excess emotion. “Oh, yeah. Third week or so of the campaign in Nifl, we ran into you and your guards. I went after you in the air, but you outflew me.” She chuckled. “Now THAT got my attention. Had to remember to breathe in time to not get decapitated by that fire-sword of yours.”

Laegjarn grimaced. “I apologize. I have had intense training in aerial combat situations, but should I have come to my senses earlier-”

“Hey.” Minerva sighed, lightly kicking the straw on the enclosure floor. “I get it. You were doing something awful to protect someone you love, right? It’s not an unfamiliar situation to me.” The princess’ eyes see past Laegjarn now, as if the former general is a window to another world. “You did what you had to do to keep yourself alive. Nothing more.”

Her chest pounding now, Laegjarn can’t help but wonder if that was a statement or a question. She averts her eyes from Minerva’s gaze and walks to Plume’s side, rubbing along the wyvern’s wing with both arms. Somewhere in the distance, another enclosure door is flung open, and slowly creaks to a close. Minerva is closely watching Plume, or maybe Laegjarn. She hopes it’s Plume. She doesn’t want that imperious gaze running down her back, seeing past the training and the civil disguise she wears, glimpsing the monster that claws beneath her skin.

Luckily, the door is opened, and Minerva’s attention is suddenly focused entirely on the visitor. It’s a muscular woman around her age. A black headband tries in vain to make some order of her violet hair, but it is disheveled and spills down her back in waves, with no regard for where it lands. She walks with a sort of saunter, a little intimidating even with the amount of huffing and puffing she’s doing. As she reaches Minerva, she flings her arms around her and yanks the princess into a tight embrace.

“Minervy-kins! Darling!”

The saccharine language is an odd fit for someone who seems so...aggressive, but most of Laegjarn’s attention is now on Minerva, twisting futilely in the grip of the other woman.

“Princess Camilla! You’re going to crush me!”

Camilla laughs, shaking her head as if to toss her hair, although in its current state it doesn’t move much. After one last squeeze (Minerva grunting in response), she releases her quarry, and her eyes land on Laegjarn.

“Now, now...who is this?”

She doesn’t recognize her. At least she’s probably never almost sliced this one’s head off.

Straightening herself after the affectionate attack, Minerva clears her throat. “Princess Camilla, meet Princess Laegjarn of Muspell.”

Laegjarn’s first thought is that it’s absolutely bizarre how many princesses live in a single place. Her second is that Camilla suddenly seems like a very different person.

Shifting her weight, Camilla has turned to Laegjarn. Her eyes narrow and her posture changes. She resumes the saunter, now walking towards the princess of Muspell with an almost malicious look on her face. There is no hug this time, instead she stops in front of Laegjarn and looks her up and down.

“So...Surtr’s daughter has been summoned.”

A chill drips into the small of Laegjarn’s back at that address. She recalls her father’s name being shrieked as she rides over rebel encampments, Niu gleaming in the air. She remembers a dying mage from Nifl damning her with it before spitting blood on her shoes and dying in the snow. She remembers her father, his hateful eyes and the smell of burning flesh that follows him, and she nearly retches on the spot.

“Camilla.”

Minerva is here, though Laegjarn can’t remember her approaching. The redhead shakes her head at Camilla, who is still looming over Laegjarn. For her part, Laegjarn hasn’t shrunken away yet.

“Princess Laegjarn is no longer our enemy. She’s here to fight for the Order.”

Camilla’s eyes shift in Minerva’s direction, but her attention still seems focused on Laegjarn.

“I am not my father, Princess Camilla.” Laegjarn lowers her eyes and extends a hand in the Nohrian woman’s direction.

“I promise, I mean no harm to anyone in this castle.” She doesn’t know how true that is. Camilla, however, seems to take it as fact. Again, her demeanor seems to totally shift, her icy countenance melting back into a friendly one. She heartily shakes Laegjarn’s hand, then puts an arm on her shoulder, leaning in bizarrely closely as she speaks.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Just have to be on my toes. Welcome, I’m Princess Camilla. How are you finding the castle? Are you too cold? Want me to ask Alfonse for some spare blankets so you aren’t freezing in the night? Do you need me to snuggle you? I don’t mind, really!”

Laegjarn thinks for a moment that Camilla is taunting her, but with the way Minerva’s laughing, she’s forced to accept that this might really be how the Nohrian princess greets newcomers.

“Camilla, give her a little space, will you? Laegjarn’s a little shy.”

“Oh! Poor dear! Don’t worry, I’ll-”

“Also, you smell like wyvern sweat mixed with hay bales. Go hit the baths or something, it’s unpleasant.”

That, at least, seems to snap Camilla out of it. Smiling slightly, she releases Laegjarn and backs off, shrugging at Minerva as she passes.

“Well, I just wanted to say hello. Hope to see you around, Leggy!”

As the other princess exits the stall, Laegjarn looks wide-eyed over Plume at Minerva, who is shaking her head.

“Don’t mind Camilla. She means well, really. And she’s an absolute force on the battlefield. Do you know what she was doing in here?”

When Laegjarn shakes her head, Minerva flashes a toothy grin. “She wrestles. With her wyvern. Sometimes people underestimate that woman...they never do it twice.”

At the thought of Camilla locked in hand-to-hand combat with a wyvern, a rare smile finds its way to Laegjarn’s face. She spends the rest of the morning talking with Minerva and caring for Plume, and for a few hours, Muspell’s flames are far away.

That evening, a letter arrives, and Laegjarn can finally recognize the name on the envelope.

It’s from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: haha i love laegjarn (tosses her into an emotional torture chamber
> 
> To be serious, though, I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is welcome as always.
> 
> (by the way Camilla usually wins at wyvern wrestling.)


	4. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laegjarn gets two pieces of news. Both push her to drastic action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a preliminary warning, this chapter deals with the topic of suicide. Please know that you are loved, and that there are resources to help you if you are having suicidal thoughts. Please look up your local hotline number if you feel at risk, or know someone who may be.

“Out of my way!”

Two figures slide apart just in time for Jagen to sprint past them. He can’t tell who they are, his vision blurry and his mind racing, but it doesn’t much matter right now. His legs feel like they’re on fire as he pushes his aged body to its absolute limit, praying to whatever higher being may watch over Askr to help him keep going just a little bit farther.

He could feel the imaginary weight of the letter clutched in his fist, somehow transcending the parchment it was written on and pulsing an aura of terror.

He needed to make it in time.

One Week Prior

_Dear Laegjarn,_

__

__

_Hello, sister. It is odd to write that, instead of say it aloud, but things have changed, I suppose. To tell you the truth, I have struggled to decide what to write to you. I got word from Prince Alfonse that you had been summoned, but I understand that this is not necessarily the same you that gave her life for me. I will not pretend to understand all this talk of parallel worlds, but I know this. You are Princess Laegjarn, and you sacrificed your life to the Rite Of Flames to spare Princess Laevatein._

__

_So long as this is true, I am overjoyed to hear of your arrival. I wish greatly to show you what has become of Muspell, but I understand you have duties to the Order. I will wait as long as I must for your work to be completed._

__

_Queen Laevatein_

As Jagen finished reading the letter aloud, he smiled warmly in Laegjarn’s direction. She was sitting in the corner of his chambers, under the window. She nodded slowly as the letter concluded, and leaned back in her chair.

“I am very proud of her.”

Jagen gave a dry laugh. “I didn’t expect she would be literate, from what you mentioned of your homeland.”

“I did not know she was.” Laegjarn’s thoughts turned to Laevatein, and she exhaled slowly. “The both of us spent a lot of time on assignments far from the castle. It’s not out of the question that she could have learned somewhere...far away from Surtr, of course.”

“Dangerous.”

“She’s brave. So, so incredibly brave.”

It was true. Laevatein was dauntless in battle, never retreating unless she was directly ordered to. Her little sister could seem emotionless, but Laegjarn knew it was partially her own way of defending herself from Surtr’s rage. Evidently, that wasn’t her only method of rebellion.

“I do wish you could see yourself when you talk about her.”

Jagen was chuckling, much to Laegjarn’s confusion.

“Your face changes. You look happy. It’s nice to see that, you know.”

She couldn’t help but grin further. Jagen closed his eyes and nodded.

“Would you like to dictate a return message to me, Princess? I’d be honored to help you respond to such an important letter.”

The old knight seemed surprised when she shook her head. 

“I’d like to write a response with my own hands, if you’ll help me.”

Her mentor seemed to mull the idea over for a few moments, scratching at the bottom of his chin.

“While you are an excellent student, Princess Laegjarn, that will still take some time.”

When she looked up at him, Jagen could see a light in her eyes he never had before. It had flickered, rarely, after a successful lesson, but never quite shone like it was now. 

“I understand. But for Laevatein, it’s worth it.”

A smile crept across Jagen’s face. “Very well, Princess. Let’s get to work.”

“Were I separated from Maria for a long time...after a grievous injury...what would I want her to know?” Minerva put down her fork and raised an eyebrow at Laegjarn. “You understand that’s an extremely ominous question, correct? Or...you probably don’t.”

Laegjarn looked sheepish, prompting a chuckle from the Macedonian. They were in the palace dining hall for dinner, at the corner of one of the eastern tables. It was a fairly quiet evening, given that many of the other Heroes used this time for breaks and celebrations. Minerva was never the type to enjoy large gatherings or getting drunk, however, so she was pleased to have found someone else to spend that time with.

“Perhaps I didn’t phrase that correctly.”

“Relax, Laegjarn. It’s me. Just tell me what you want to say.”

At Minerva’s comforting reassurance, Laegjarn felt a bit of the phantom weight on her stomach ease up. She’d formed something like camaraderie with the other wyvern rider, after spending much of the last week’s free time at the wyvern stables. While her imperious nature often made it difficult to discern exactly what Minerva was feeling, Laegjarn guessed that she returned the feeling of kinship. 

Not that she deserved it. Not that she should have ever dragged the innocent woman into her wretched, violent, murderous, terrible

“I’m writing a letter to my sister.” 

She forced the words out in an attempt to stop the sinister thoughts clambering their way up her spine. Minerva’s face brightened, and Laegjarn tried to focus on that. She’d made someone happy. That was nowhere near atonement, but it was something.

“Laevatein? That’s good to hear. I’m sure she’s been missing you.” Minerva took a bite of the steak in front of her, chewing while evidently deep in thought. “Have you ever written a letter to her before?”

“No. Letters are not commonplace in Muspell. The dry heat is ill suited to parchment, and a rampant ember ruining correspondence is far from ideal.”

Minerva hummed thoughtfully, taking another bite of her food before continuing. “What are you going to tell her?”

Nervously, Laegjarn dragged a few fingers through her hair, making eye contact with the top of the table. “I don’t know. What does one say to a sister they’ve been apart from for...months?” She thought it was months, at least. Her time in what she presumed was the afterlife was difficult to measure.

Something like recognition lit up Minerva’s eyes. She pushed her plate aside and straightened her back, like a mother wyvern about to defend its nest. “Well, first of all, you should tell her that you’re safe. I’m sure Alfonse made that clear, but it would be better to hear it from you.”

That made sense. Given what Laegjarn herself had assumed was going to be her fate when she was first summoned, she supposed the reassurance would be welcomed.

“Tell her what you’ve been doing around here. Not just the combat, but about your allies. Let her know you’re not utterly miserable.” Minerva quirked an eyebrow. “You aren’t, are you?”

At the moment, she wasn’t, so she shook her head. Here with Minerva, there was a sense that the nightmares were far away, and the atrocities she was marred with didn’t apply.

“Then...hmm. Just let her know what your plans are, I suppose. It would be good to get to meet up with her, I’m sure the Summoner would grant you leave for a few weeks.”

In truth, Laevatein was the one thing worth returning to Muspell for. Considering Minerva’s words for a moment, Laegjarn finally nodded.

“Understood. I appreciate your counsel, Minerva.” She reached across the table to shake Minerva’s hand. Chuckling, Minerva completed the handshake, but not without rolling her eyes.

“Honestly, we do need to get you some training in talking like a human.”

A familiar voice rang from across the hall.

“Minervy-kins!”

Minerva groaned as Camilla approached, capturing the redhead in an extravagant hug despite Minerva’s best efforts to shrug her off. Still in the midst of mussing Minerva’s hair (and ignoring the colorful curses that rang from the Macedonian), Camilla beamed at Laegjarn from over the table. “You’re looking bright today, Princess.”

Laegjarn smiled, a little thankful she’d gotten the toned-down version of Camilla’s greeting. “Thank you, Princess.”

“Get off of me, Princess!” Minerva flexed, knocking a giggling Camilla backwards. She shook her head, fixed her hair, and laughed as the Nohrian reapproached, pouting slightly. “We really do have a lot of princesses in this army…”

Camilla slid into a seat next to Minerva, resting her head on her hands. “You’re right, Minervy. I just had a mission with that Ylissean girl, Lucina? Very talented. And of course, my sisters...and your sister…”

Laegjarn had to admit that she found it odd. She supposed that if the Summoner’s weapon was searching for extraordinary people throughout multiple histories, it made sense that royalty would be prominently featured. Former kings and queens of Muspell, at least, endured even under Surtr’s reign as popular stories passed down by word of mouth.

“If they’re all as adept and attractive as you ladies, I certainly don’t mind having them around.” Laegjarn started, and she saw Minerva’s eyes widen at the sudden sound of an intruder’s voice. Camilla, however, merely scoffed over Laegjarn’s shoulder.

“Honestly, Niles, you can simply approach like a civilized person.”

Much less quietly than he had arrived, Niles swung himself into the chair next to Laegjarn. His white hair was askew, and she caught a glimpse of an eyepatch over his left eye as the man surveyed the table, a crooked grin spread across his face.

“Lovely to see you as always, Lady Camilla, Lady Minerva.” He gave a quick wave of the hand at Laegjarn. 

“The name’s Niles. Former Nohrian intelligence, current rogue on-duty for the Order. Remember me?” Every word the man spoke was tinged with questions, as if he was fishing for information simply through a casual conversation.

After watching Laegjarn’s confused scowl for a few moments, Niles shrugged. “Guess you wouldn’t, if I was doing my job too well. I was your caregiver back when we nabbed you up in Nifl.”

She had been captured by the Order, briefly. Laegjarn remembered very few details of her captivity. Refusing requests to talk, she had spent most of her time in a makeshift cell inside one of the Order’s travel wagons, sitting silently as the wooden wheels creaked and shook in the snow. Someone had to have been bringing her food and water, though, and it did strike her as odd that she never saw his face.

“You were the one who kept me fed, then?”

Niles flashed a smile, like a wolf baring its teeth. “That’s right. Had to keep you up and around, would have been no use to your daddy dead.”

The remark made her swallow, hard. Camilla seemed to notice, rapping a few violet fingernails on the top of the table.

“Niles, darling, let’s not bring that up. It’s in the past now, sweet Laegjarn is one of us now.”

There was something slightly comforting about Camilla’s attitude, despite how overbearing she could often be. Niles complied, taking his one good eye off of Laegjarn and splaying his hands in front of Minerva’s dinner.

“Fine, Lady Camilla. I just overheard you three talking about how many princesses we’ve got here, and if my information is right, I thought you may want to know there’s another on the way.”

“Another summoning?” Minerva’s twirled her fork thoughtfully. “It’s not been very long since the last one, when Laegjarn was called.”

Laegjarn was riveted by the news. “Do these summonings often happen so frequently?”

Niles gave a lackadaisical shrug in response. “Nah. Not so close, at least. But I hear Alfonse and the Summoner really poured their little hearts into this one.” He raised a finger, spun it, and left it pointing in Laegjarn’s direction. “I guess seeing you come out of there made them realize that they could bring someone else back.”

Grinning wildly, Niles looked at Camilla, who was nearly bent across the table in excitement. “I hear they managed to summon that Nifl princess Surtr burned up. Gunnthra.”

A terrible weight settled in Laegjarn’s gut, but at the same time, another lifted from her shoulders. She let out a ragged breath as the others continued to gossip with Niles.

She knew exactly what she had to do.

Jagen had scarcely finished changing into his sleepwear by the time a familiar knock on his door came.

“Who is it?”

“Laegjarn.”

Jagen smiled. “Ah, come in!”

It didn’t take him long to notice something was wrong. Laegjarn had always struggled in these social situations, but she had been slowly improving. However, the woman entering now was worse than he had ever seen her. Her carefully maintained hair was in tatters, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Princess? Did something happen?”

She shook her head quickly, almost reflexively. “I’m alright. Simply a long training session, I’m sure you understand.” She gave a hollow laugh. Jagen decided not to push it.

“Would you mind if I wrote this letter to my sister in your chambers tonight? I fear I may need to ask for some advice.”

“You are always welcome here, Princess.” 

As she sat at the desk, Laegjarn’s legs were trembling. A crease formed on Jagen’s forehead as he settled back against the headboard of his bed, pulling a book from the nightstand. Part of him wanted to believe that these were simply nerves, but something didn’t sit right with him. He’d seen soldiers like this before, back in Altea, and they never bore good news.

“Sir Jagen? I had one more favor to ask, if you would do me another kindness.”

“If it is within my ability.”

She turned to look at him now, and her expression was plain. He’d seen that look before as well, on the battlefield. It was the way a soldier looked when they had smothered their emotions.

“Will you send this letter to my sister tomorrow? I’m afraid I don’t know how, and I’ve been assigned to do some work around the wyvern stables. I’ll just leave it on your desk.”

Jagen nodded. “Gladly, Princess Laegjarn. I’ll be passing by the Summoner’s office tomorrow anyway.”

“Thank you, Jagen. For everything.”

Laegjarn was smiling. 

“You are a truly worthy Hero. I am honored to have met you.”

Before he could respond, she turned back around in her chair and began to write. They both sat in silence for a time, Laegjarn only occasionally speaking up to clarify how to spell one of the trickier words. In time, Jagen’s age caught up with him, and he drifted to sleep sitting up in his bed, his last vision being a diligent Laegjarn scratching away at the page.

She wasn’t smiling anymore.

_My Dear Laevatein,_

_Pleas know that i am unharmed. The Order has taken good car of me, lik i was one of theyre own. I hav known kindness here i thought cold only com from you._

Laegjarn waited at the entry to the great hall, having woken early in the morning. She kept to the shadows, only offering courteous nods to the few Heroes who stumbled back to their rooms. Her fingers traced the square lump in her pocket, squeezing it like an animal clinging to its mother. It wasn’t dignified, but it would do if it kept her standing there.

An hour after the sun rose, she heard the joyful laughter of Fjorm from a distant hall. Hrid’s booming chuckle came next, and there was an airy giggle that followed, one she’d never heard before. 

Her fingers curled around the pocket once more.

_A night named Jagen has taut me much, and helped me too write this letter. He is wyse and kind. I hope he forgves the burdin i put on him._

Within moments, the hall began to fill as Heroes from around the castle’s dormitory wings trickled in. There were a variety of new guests, but Laegjarn’s eyes were set on the hall she’d heard the Nifl royal family from. 

As she expected, Fjorm emerged first, her enchanted spear slung lazily over her shoulder as she spoke with her brother, Hrid. The prince was strong and brave, both attributes that had made him difficult to face in battle, as she had numerous times. A second woman followed shortly behind, smiling widely at the others.

She had long rose-colored hair that was only partially covered by the white hood of her gown. The hall burst to life around her, but Laegjarn only saw Gunnthra.

They had never met in life, but by some bizarre twist of fate, they were both somehow alive once more, and in the same room.

It made Laegjarn’s stomach churn.

_There is also a princess named minerva. She also rydes a yvern. She has ben sumone i enjoy talking too. But I can’t keep lieing too mysilf._

“Princess Gunnthra!”

The raucous hall slowly went silent as all eyes turned to the Flame Princess. She began to march across the hall, vision locked on Gunnthra as her footsteps and heartbeat fell into sync. She kept talking, hoping to get this over with as quickly as she could.

“I am Princess Laegjarn of Muspell, General of King Surtr’s Invasion Army.” She’d repeated that title so many times, but it felt right here, rolling off of her tongue easily despite the apprehension starting to tug at the back of her throat. Gunnthra blinked in surprise, and Prince Hrid placed a hand cautiously on the hilt of his sword.

“I come before you to confess my crimes against Nifl. I lead Surtr’s forces into your homeland. At my command, they raided your fortresses, slew your soldiers, and caused loss of property and life across your kingdom.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone clad in red armor starting to move.

“I, myself, participated in this. At the command of King Surtr, but of my own volition, I participated in an unjust war, ending several lives with my blade.” Laegjarn held up the leather-bound journal, retrieved from her pocket, in one hand. “You will find them listed here, though even this may be incomplete.”

She was mere feet from Gunnthra now, and could easily see the Princess of Nifl. She looked exceptionally delicate, conjuring up images of flames leaping across snow, summoning the faint echo of Surtr’s booming laugh.

“I lead the search for your location. I obtained the information that King Surtr used to hunt you down.” She allowed herself to look into Gunnthra’s eyes now. They were afraid.

“I lead to your untimely death at the hands of the tyrant of Muspell.” She sank to her knees, prompting a number of gasps from the surrounding Heroes. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the pounding of greaves on tile, accompanied by heavy breathing.

_Laevatein, i’m sory. I canot return hom with the payn i hav caused. I am a monster. Just lyke Father._

_You must stey strong, lyke i know you alweys hav. You ar the best thing to evr happen to me. You will be the saym for so many in muspell._

_I will give myself to Gunthra wen she is summoned, to be killed. Do not cry for me, Laevatein. I only get what I desrve._

_Love,_  
Yor sister,  
Laegjarn 

Laegjarn removed Niu’s sheath from her back and laid the weapon before Gunnthra. She bowed her head, a curtain of viridian hair serving as her shroud.

“Princess Gunnthra, I would ask that you execute me for my transgressions against you, your family, and your country.” She swallowed and fought back tears. “It is only fair.”

“No.”

The response had come quicker than she expected. Laegjarn tilted her head back to look up at the Nifl princess. Gunnthra’s brow was furrowed, and she reached a hand down to Laegjarn. “Please, stand up.”

Laegjarn couldn’t. The weight in the pit of her stomach was only growing, and she willed her fingers to start digging into the palace floor. She could hear the confused whispers of Heroes surrounding her, feel their eyes boring into her skin. Gunnthra didn’t understand.

“Princess Gunnthra.” Her head hung again. “I slaughtered your people, treated them as obstacles. I do not deserve your forgiveness. I am responsible for the state of Nifl. End me.”

The last two words were louder than she wanted. The whispers grew louder, less guarded, and she could swear she heard her name all around the chamber. It was jumbled together with words that stuck like sap to her innards, “monster”, “killer”, “Surtr’s daughter”. Sweat poured from her palms as she struggled to hold back tears.

“I will not.”

Gunnthra hadn’t even touched Niu. The princess moved into a squat, her face close to the top of Laegjarn’s head. “Laegjarn. If you believe you must atone, you cannot do that while dead. Please, stand up and show them how strong you are.”

Gunnthra smiles, and Laegjarn’s heart shatters. Something inside her is screaming, digging its nails into her brain as the blood turns to oil in her accursed body.

Gunnthra doesn’t understand. She hasn’t heard the way they screamed and begged for mercy. She hasn’t seen the way you tore them from their lives and gutted them. She doesn’t know all that you know.

You can’t go on like this.

She doesn’t know when she started to cry.

“Gunnthra. Kill me.”

“No.”

She’s not smiling anymore. Laegjarn lunges forward on her knees, wrapping her arms around Gunnthra’s knees. Hrid shouts, but she isn’t listening.

“Kill me!”

“No!”

This isn’t right, this isn’t how it was supposed to go. The once proud general of Muspell, sobbing on her knees and begging for death. Her father would have burned her alive twice-over for this, and although she hates him, she understands. She is a monster, a coward, and a failure.

“Please!”

Gunnthra stumbles and falls to the ground as Laegjarn’s grip tightens. Around her, people are staring and speaking. It might be to her, but she doesn’t care, she can’t hear it. Suddenly, one voice breaks through the din.

“Laegjarn.”

It’s Minerva.

“Get up.”

Laegjarn doesn’t turn around to look at her. She can’t bear to think about Minerva, who she had stained with her presence. Minerva, who must now understand what sort of a person she had become close with. Minerva, who was surely looking down at her with disdain. She implores Gunnthra once more, her voice cracking.

“Kill me! End it! I can’t be here! I don’t deserve it!”

Behind her, an axe is taken from its sheath. Laegjarn suddenly feels a weight on her back, the cool touch of metal coursing up her arms.

“Get up and face me.”

The crowd is panicking now. She hears someone shout at Minerva.

“Put that away! What are you thinking?”

There’s no response. Gunnthra is clamoring to her feet, Hrid and Fjorm holding their hands out to assist.

“Prince Hrid! Princess Fjorm!” Laegjarn is desperate now, and she stares wildly up at the other Nifl royals.

Laegjarn swipes Niu with an arm, sending it scattering towards them. Their expressions twist into shock.

“I have caused so much pain, please, stop it! Kill me! Make it stop!”

Hot tears are pouring out now, a mixture of despair and shame. The broken forms of slaughtered foes parade through her mind, and it takes the last scraps of her dignity not to scream.

“Laegjarn. Stand up. Look at me.”

“Princess Laegjarn!”

A clearly winded Jagen’s voice rings out after Minerva’s. Another pang of shame drifts through Laegjarn’s thoughts.

“I’m giving you three seconds.”

“Minerva, what are you DOING?”

Laegjarn closes her eyes.

“Two.”

“MINERVA!”

“Get away from her!”

Laegjarn’s palms start to quake.

“One.”

“PRINCESS MINERVA!”

“Laegjarn!”

Laegjarn thinks of the void she came from, and how it will look again.

An axe swishes through the air, and something heavy and metallic collides with the back of Laegjarn’s head. The hall is full of screams now, and they slowly morph into the same ones that plague her nightmares, the ones she’s earned.

Surtr has a hold of her now. He clenches his fist and flame bursts forth.

Laegjarn is burning, as she knows she should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may be quite a ways away due to Three Houses coming out and presumably consuming my free time. 
> 
> Feedback is always welcome, and tends to really make my day. Thank you very much for reading!


	5. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laegjarn faces the consequences of her actions. A surprising new friend resolves to help her.

This time, no warm light accompanied her resurrection.

A deep pain in the back of her head slowly pulled Laegjarn awake, something she had hoped and expected to never happen again. Groggily, she lifted her head and looked down her body, lying flat on an unknown bed. She had been changed out of her armor and into a set of white sleepwear, not her own. The dim light of the unfamiliar room pounded against her eyes, the gown’s fabric itched against her skin, and the whole affair felt foreign, mysterious, and wrong.

As Laegjarn tried to reach up to pull some hair out of her eyes, she was met with sudden resistance against her wrist. Her eyes followed her arm down, and she stifled a gasp as she saw the rope binding her wrist to the edge of the bed. A rushed glance to her right confirmed that both hands were secured this way, and panic began to well up in her gut.

“Oh! She’s awake!”

She hadn’t even noticed someone else was in the room yet. Her eyes suddenly fell on a chair situated to the right of her bed. There, leaning over her side, was Princess Gunnthra.

Her stomach churned again as guilt rushed back in. Gunnthra shouldn’t have been here. Laegjarn shouldn’t even be here, she should be dead. Something had gone terribly awry. Before she had a chance to think much about it, a door opened near the foot of the bed.

Her vision clearing, Laegjarn could see the man who entered clearly. He held a healing staff, which had a softly glowing blue gem affixed to the end, and had a mane of long blonde hair that dipped past his shoulders. The healer calmly walked to the side of the bed opposite Gunnthra and looked Laegjarn in the eyes.

“Princess Laegjarn? Can you hear me?”

She nodded, and Gunnthra breathed a sigh of relief.

“My name is Lucius. Prince Alfonse asked me to take care of you until you woke up. Do you remember what happened?”

Bits and pieces of the previous day swirled before her mind’s eye. Confessing her crimes to Gunnthra, begging for death, her hands scraping against the hard worn floor. Refusal, shame, desperation. The chill of an axe’s blade on her back, and the scorn in Minerva’s voice. 

The blow hadn’t been meant to end her life.

Laegjarn nodded again, focusing her vision on Lucius, if only not to look at the room’s other occupant.

Lucius took a seat in a wooden stool, his expression difficult to read. Lifting one of his hands, he held up three fingers.

“How many?”

“Three.”

Her voice wasn’t how she remembered it. Whoever had just spoken was scratchy, fatigued, and weak. It wasn’t the trained cadence of a fearless general at all.

“Good. Now, what’s your name?”

“Laegjarn,” croaked the voice that wasn’t hers, seeping out from somewhere within her chest.

The healer’s jaw unclenched, and he gave her a smile. “Good, it seems you’re still thinking clearly. You’re lucky so many people there had healing staves, an axe-handle to the back of the skull could have been much, much worse.”

Honestly, Laegjarn didn’t agree. Lucius was already standing up again, looking as if he was preparing to exit the way he came.

“Where am I?”

“I’m sorry, I swore to tell them the moment you woke up…” Lucius looked over his shoulder, grimacing. “Princess Gunnthra, I hate to pull you into this, but can you fill her in?”

“Of course. Not a problem at all.”

Reassured, Lucius rushed from the room, and Laegjarn could hear a door being lightly pulled shut. A hand landed on her shoulder, and she tried to shrug it off.

“Oh! Sorry!” The hand withdrew, and Gunnthra began to speak again. “This is the castle infirmary. You got hit in the head pretty badly, so we had to bring you here.”

Laegjarn nodded. She still didn’t feel able to look the princess directly in the eyes, or she feared she might start to lose control again. Now that Gunnthra had seen her in such a state, speaking with her was even harder to consider than before. None of that, however, seemed to be dissuading the princess of Nifl from talking.

“It’s been about a day. You’ve woken up a few times now, but every time before you just went under again. Lucius said it seemed like exhaustion. You’re a deep sleeper, apparently!”

Laegjarn slowly turned her head, breathing deeply as Gunnthra’s face came into view. She looked crestfallen, her noble face marred with concern.

“How long have you been here?”

“Oh, I took a few hours yesterday, and I came in this morning. While I wasn’t here, we made sure someone would be. Hrid, Fjorm, Sir Jagen…”

“Why?”

She still couldn’t figure it out. Confusion was turning to irritation. Why would anyone do something like that, and for her, of all people? She wanted to be left to die.

Gunnthra frowned. “Because you scared us, Laegjarn. You were saying some pretty frightening things in there, you know.”

Frightening? Laegjarn felt like Gunnthra was speaking an entirely different language. Frightening was barrelling through the canyons of Mt. Keln on her wyvern’s back, embers leaping inches above her head. Frightening was being face to face with a powerful enemy, knowing that every decision could lead to death at the end of a blade. Frightening was King Surtr, Sinmara clutched in his hands, flames dancing about his feet as he prepared to snuff out the life of another challenger. She knew frightening, and nothing in the great hall matched.

“Why?” She fully faced Gunnthra now, wincing in pain as the sore spot on her head rubbed against the bed. “What were you afraid of?”

“You said you wanted to die!”

“And?” The question came out a little harsher and a lot more blunt than Laegjarn had intended, as the confusion and the pain were starting to take their toll.

“I don’t want you to! Nobody does, Laegjarn!” Gunnthra leaned further forward. “Can’t you see that-”

The door was pried open, and Laegjarn’s eyes immediately searched for Lucius. However, they didn’t find him. Instead, in the doorframe, she could see a towering figure with scarlet hair and a massive scowl.

“Minerva.”

“Do not speak to me.” This was Minerva as Laegjarn had never seen her before. Even at her most joyful, she was a little abrasive, and when you first met her she was downright antisocial, but the rage Laegjarn could sense coursing through her old comrade was almost palpable. All the fires of Muspell barely compared to the one blazing in Minerva’s eyes as she stomped her way to the bed. She gave Laegjarn a look of disgust.

“Minerva…”

“Quiet!” At the sound of Minerva’s bark, Gunnthra rose to her feet, staring daggers at the intruder. 

“If you dare to harm her again, I will alert Prince Alfonse immediately.”

At that, Minerva jerked her head up, returning Gunnthra’s icy gaze with one of her own.

“Princess Gunnthra, I have no quarrel with you. Only with this coward.”

The insult, spat like venom, stung somewhere in the depths of Laegjarn’s chest.

“Coward?” Gunnthra’s eyebrow raised. “You attacked her!”

“I subdued her. Before she could hurt herself, or anyone else.” Minerva’s hands were on the front of the gown now, and she pulled Laegjarn up to face her. From mere inches away, Laegjarn could see the hard lines of the Macedonian’s facial features, as well as the red veins creeping into the sides of her eyes.

“You think you can just throw your life away? You think that fixes everything?” Minerva was shouting now, and Gunnthra took a step back. Laegjarn dangled in Minerva’s grasp, still a little dizzy from what had come before.

“You think you can just show up and be a part of our lives, and then run off and kill yourself? You think that’s fair? I don’t know what it was like in Muspell, but people here cared about you!” She lightly shook Laegjarn. “Jagen told me what he was doing for you. Maria wanted to meet the woman who made such wonderful little drawings. Did you even give a second thought to how they would feel? My sister was in that room, Laegjarn! And you would make her watch you die?”

Her head spinning, Laegjarn tried to refute Minerva’s accusations. Her head was fuzzy, her memory poor, but as she searched and clawed for an answer, Laegjarn was soon forced to realize something.

She really hadn’t thought of any of them while it was happening. Not even-

“Laevatein.”

The weak and strained voice whispered a name, and Minerva’s face twisted in disgust.

“I nearly forgot. Laevatein. Your little sister has lost you once. You would be so cruel as to let her lose you again? Is that the kind of monster you are, Laegjarn?” She sucked in air between her teeth, the fire still raging in her eyes. “I thought only your father could be so heartless.”

“That’s enough!”

Lucius strode into the room, Prince Alfonse close behind. The prince’s eyes looked Laegjarn over as Lucius pressed the tip of his staff to Minerva’s chest, a slight quiver in his voice the only thing to indicate any fear.

“Minerva. I know you mean well. But this is not the way to help her.”

“I don’t know if she deserves help.” muttered Minerva.

“Minerva!” Shock was evident on the healer’s face, but the princess had said her piece. She let go of the gown, letting Laegjarn’s upper body fall lightly back to the cot. Turning on her heels, Minerva exited the infirmary, the distant clacks of her boots echoing against the castle walls.

A silence held tightly to the room for a few moments, as Alfonse got seated and Lucius ran his staff over Laegjarn’s torso, as if checking for any more wounds. Her insides were twisting in defiance of it all. Minerva was right, she was a coward. She never stood up to Surtr, and now she couldn’t even die right.

“Princess Laegjarn.”

Alfonse’s voice was measured as the young prince leaned back in his chair. 

“You gave us all quite a scare. To be honest...I’m not quite sure where to go from here. We can’t have you on the battlefield in this state, so I’m afraid I’ll have to order you confined to the castle until you’re feeling…better.” Shaking his head, Alfonse sighed. “I apologize, I don’t mean to be insensitive.”

Laegjarn rose from the cot, struggling to meet the Prince’s eyes through hazy vision. “Prince Alfonse, I can still fight. I cannot be a burden on the Order.”

“You’ll be helping the order by staying to recover, Princess. Please, let me finish.”

Arms still shaking, she acquiesced. 

“To help ensure your safety, we’ve...hold on. Lucius?” Alfonse pointed at the coils of rope still binding Laegjarn’s wrists. The healer stood with a start and began hastily untying them from the cot’s edges.

“Terribly sorry...” the healer whispered, “No need for these with so many of us around.”

As the restraints fell to the floor, shame flashed across Laegjarn’s face, a realization of what their purpose was suddenly hitting her. She felt like a caged wyvern, snout bound so it wouldn’t chew on the bars, surrounded by eyes she couldn’t hide from. 

Muspell’s most feared general, bound to a cot so she wouldn’t hurt herself. The thought was enough to make her imagine Surtr’s hands on her neck.

Alfonse nodded gratefully at Lucius before continuing. “You’ll be sharing a bedchamber with someone else for the time being. Just to make sure you’re keeping healthy.”

Laegjarn thought she could be brought no lower.

“Princess Gunnthra has graciously volunteered.”

She was wrong.

“What?” Laegjarn hissed.

Gunnthra stood and walked to the head of the bed. She leaned over the headboard and looked down, her face parallel to Laegjarn’s. She inhaled deeply, and Laegjarn could smell something pleasant on her breath.

“Laegjarn. I know what you’ve done. I daresay I might know better than anyone else what the invaders from Muspell did to my home. But I know what your father did as well.”

Gunnthra scowled, a bizarre sight. “He was the most terrible man this world has ever known. Through violence and cruelty, he forced an entire nation to do his cruel bidding. But, perhaps worse than that, he turned his own daughter into a weapon. And now that the war is over, and Surtr is buried, you think you don’t have a purpose anymore. That you’re broken, worthless, and need to be discarded before you hurt anyone else.”

Her eyes widening, Laegjarn stayed silent, listening closely as Gunnthra continued.

“I don’t see a weapon here, Princess. I see someone who has been beaten and burned until she had to go to war. You aren’t broken. I want to help you see that.” She paused for a moment, as if wracking her brain for a way to cap off her speech.

“I want to help you get a second chance, Laegjarn.”

Suddenly aware of her heart beating in her chest, Laegjarn gawked at Gunnthra’s upside-down smile. She barely knew this woman. What was going on in the princess of Nifl’s mind to make her think any of this made sense? And yet, despite how illogical it felt, something about it fit. Somewhere in her chest, some deeply buried part of her was reaching back to Gunnthra, nodding in response to her request.

Lying there, Laegjarn began to face facts. Death was not an option, unless she wanted to bring even more misery. Atonement was the only way to quell the terrible tempest that had been brewing inside her since her resurrection. Minerva was disgusted with her, her sister was far away, and she wouldn’t know where to start alone. She swallowed and turned to face Alfonse. It was time to stop running.

“I agree to your terms.”

A few hours passed, and a couple more visitors trickled into the infirmary. Hrid and Fjorm were first, welcoming her to the Nifl royal wing of the castle. Jagen eventually arrived as well, scolding her for her actions, but softening once he learned of her arrangement with Gunnthra. 

“Don’t think this means you should stop coming for lessons!” he had quipped, with a smile that sat on the precipice between humor and genuine relief.

And, of course, there was Camilla, so eager to sweep Laegjarn into a squeeze that Lucius was forced to intervene, practically batting the Nohrian off with his staff and a barrage of warnings about Laegjarn’s potential injuries. That made Gunnthra laugh, and Laegjarn nearly did as well, the pain still lightly throbbing on the back of her skull.

But, most of the time, it was simply her and Gunnthra. It was bizarre, and it made her head feel light, but that unavoidable feeling of correctness, comfort, and security, all distorted by nausea, wouldn’t let up. After Lucius bid farewell for the night, yawning slightly before beginning the trek back to his room, Laegjarn asked a question.

“Can I ask you to be honest with me?”

“Of course.”

Laegjarn closed her eyes. “Why, really, do you want to help me?” Gunnthra paused for a moment.

“Because I know you’re a better person than you give yourself credit for. During the war, I kept a close eye on our conquered territories. When my spies told me you were in charge of an area, they brought back stories none of us expected. We heard you were merciful, tried to keep civilians out of the fighting. Food supplies were never pillaged in areas you controlled. And I...guess I developed this picture of you in my head.” Gunnthra coughed, and her cheeks flushed a tad. “When we knew we were beaten, I was praying that when the forces of Muspell found me, it would be Princess Laegjarn at the lead. Maybe I could negotiate with you, stop some of the destruction.” She shook her head. “Of course it didn’t happen, but the hope kept me going, kept me alive until the end.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“You did, in a way.” Gunnthra beamed, resting a hand on Laegjarn’s shoulder again. “Let me return the favor.”

This time, she didn’t shrug it away.

At the other end of Castle Askr, someone knocked on Minerva’s chamber door. When she opened it, a very angry Camilla pushed her way in.

“Camilla. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The Nohrian snarled, her torso heaving with angry breaths. “How could you say those things to Laegjarn?”

Minerva turned around, folding her arms over her chest. “She nearly forced my sister to witness a public execution. I think I’m allowed a few harsh words.”

Aggressively, Camilla stepped forward, laying a threatening hand on Minerva’s forearm. Minerva eyed it lazily as Camilla began to speak.

“You really think that’s going to help? She doesn’t need scolding, Minerva, she needs to be cared for.”

“Perhaps,” Minerva drawled. As little as she liked it, a pang of guilt did begin to crystallize at that statement. She looked Camilla in the eyes. “but I think she also needs to learn to stand on her own two feet again. And she won’t get there with your arms wrapped around her all day.”

Minerva knew she had struck a chord, just by the way Camilla shuffled anxiously, but the Nohrian’s face was still painted red with anger.

“Don’t you ever scream at her again, Minerva.”

With a resounding crash, Camilla wrenched the door open again and departed the chamber. Crouching beside her bed, Minerva sighed to herself as she dug around beneath it.

Camilla had a point, perhaps. Emotions had never been Minerva’s strong suit.

This, though, she felt strongly about. She was no stranger to being coerced into fighting for the wrong side. King Michalis, bastard that he was, had used Maria’s life to force her into becoming one of his warriors back home. Her redemption had come from the work she did with Hauteclere after Marth had rescued her sister, not from well-wishes and coddling. She frowned. Marth would likely have taken Camilla’s side, but as much as Minerva respected the King of Altea, she knew he was often too kind for his own good. If Laegjarn truly wanted to prove herself, Minerva would welcome it, but she would not simply give forgiveness unearned.

Her fingers brushed against a scabbard beneath the bed, and Minerva retrieved Niu. The princess quickly quashed the guilt she felt at stealing the enchanted blade with a quiet reassurance.

She would make sure this was only used in the right hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, there's going to be a little romance in this, sorry if that's not interesting to you! It's going to be a minor focus, but I realized writing this that the relationship here is pretty evident.
> 
> Feedback? Always welcome, of course!  
> Questions? Feel free to ask!  
> Niu? Y O I N K E D.


	6. Cold Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to recovery starts amidst dirt and regret.

For the second day in a row, Laegjarn awoke in a room that was not her own, in borrowed clothes, and with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. Unlike yesterday, though, she was on the floor. 

This was new.

As she stirred, roughly wiping the sleep from her eyes, a cascade of pink fell from the sky. A combination of battle-tested nerves and early-morning fatigue stifled the yelp in her throat as Gunnthra peered down from above.

“Good morning, Laegjarn!”

Talking to Gunnthra was still difficult. Every time she saw that pale, grinning face, her mind tried to pull her back to that day in Nifl, when Surtr had finally reached the Niflian Princess’s hideaway. She couldn’t help but think about Gunnthra’s snow-like skin charring in Surtr’s grasp, or the way she had faintly struggled against it. Worst of all, it had been her fault. She had lead the tyrant of Muspell to an innocent woman, one of the kindest in the world, surely, and watched as he-

Laegjarn lost her train of thought as a pillow was dropped directly on her face.

“Hey! I told you to take one of these! You have a head injury, you know, you can’t just leave it there.” Gunnthra sounded rather annoyed, but her tone gradually softened. “I understand if you don’t want to use the bed, but if you’re going to insist on sleeping on the ground, at least make sure it’s safe, okay?”

Sliding the pillow off of her head, Laegjarn nodded.

“Understood.”

Gunnthra’s face scrunched up. Evidently something in that answer wasn’t acceptable, but the moment passed quickly as Gunnthra pulled away, standing up on the other side of the bed and beginning to round the corner. Laegjarn followed suit, quickly rising to her feet and banishing the fatigue from her mind. Some military habits never went away, she supposed.

Standing now, Laegjarn had a much better chance to survey the room. A single large bed dominated most of the center, but a set of chairs on each side made it clear that seating wasn’t an issue. There was a desk mounted carefully in one corner, with a banner of Nifl hanging proud over a wardrobe in another.

“Sharena gave that to me the day I was summoned.” Gunnthra smiled, following Laegjarn’s eyes to the banner. “How do you like the room? I didn’t get a chance to ask last night, I know things were a little hectic.”

Laegjarn tensed a little, not expecting the question. “It’s...larger than mine.”

Gunnthra laughed, a light and airy sound that reminded Laegjarn of a snowfall. “My brother said the same thing. I don’t know why, honestly. I suppose I was a queen.” She smirked. “Briefly.”

Laegjarn’s heart skipped a beat, reminded once again of the slight woman before her smoldering at her father’s feet. She swallowed and looked away.

“I can only apologize for the horrific things I did.”

There was a gasp, and then the shuffling of feet as Gunnthra quickly approached, resting a hand on Laegjarn’s shoulder. “I was just trying to make fun, I’m sorry. I should have considered that this is still very difficult for you.”

Why wasn’t it difficult for Gunnthra? Why was she so damned forgiving? How did this woman manage to act this way? She tried to study Gunnthra’s face for clues, but the princess remained unreadable. Gunnthra strode to the door, calling over her shoulder as she opened it. 

“There are some extra clothes on the right side of the wardrobe. Get dressed and come out when you’re ready! There’s something I’d like to show you today!”

When Laegjarn emerged into the lobby a few minutes later, she noticed Gunnthra waiting for her at a large central table. The giggling started again as Laegjarn approached, not entirely sure what was so funny.

“I’m sorry, those are a bit small on you, aren’t they?”

Laegjarn shrugged. “I’ve never worn Nifl style clothing before. I assumed the snugness was intentional, to combat the temperature.”

That only made Gunnthra laugh harder, much to Laegjarn’s confusion.

“You know, that makes sense! But no, you’re just a bit taller and more muscular! We’ll have to stop by your old room and pick up your clothes today.”

One of the other doors slowly creaked open, and Fjorm emerged. Smiling, she approached. “Good morning, sister. Good morning to you as well, Princess Laegjarn!”

Fjorm had the same sunny countenance as her sister, Laegjarn observed, but a tad bit more subdued. While Gunnthra’s smile tugged at the corners of her lips, Fjorm’s didn’t quite reach. Laegjarn simply raised a hand and nodded.

“Good morning, Princess Fjorm.”

Gunnthra took one of Fjorm’s hands. “Sis, I’m going to be spending the day showing Laegjarn here a few things. Could you take Ylgr down to the mess hall for me?”

“Of course.” As Fjorm departed, throwing a last smile Laegjarn’s way before she began to make her way to the other end of the common area, Laegjarn raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Princess Gunnthra, you needn’t do this. Please do not allow me to take time away from your work.”

Her concern was met with Gunnthra’s usual smile. “Laegjarn, first of all, no need for the titles here, okay? Call me Gunnthra, please. And right now, helping you is my work. Lucius and Alfonse seemed to think I’d be suited for it.”

Shame started to spread through Laegjarn like a virus. “But I-”

Gunnthra planted a fingertip in the middle of Laegjarn’s forehead. “Listen. If you want to think of it another way, I’m helping you get back on your wyvern for the Order. That’s a benefit I don’t think even you can find a way to deny providing.”

She was right, as frustrating as it was.

“Oh, Ylgr!” Gunnthra waved somewhere behind Laegjarn’s head. “Good morning! Come here!”

Turning to see what was happening, Laegjarn noticed a diminutive figure walking by Fjorm’s side. Though she hadn’t met her before, the light blue clothes that mirrored her siblings’ and the light gold tiara identified the little girl as the youngest Niflian princess. As Laegjarn caught her eye, the little girl’s expression soured. As quickly as she appeared, she was gone again, shrieking as she fled the common room.

Fjorm looked up, panicked, staring straight at Laegjarn.

“I’m so sorry, she doesn’t quite understand…”

“It’s alright.” Laegjarn replied. This much was true, she had spent long enough knowing who her father was to know that they bore a family resemblance. That the little girl saw Surtr in her stung, but she couldn’t let that get inside her head again. After a flushed Fjorm’s exit, Gunnthra looked Laegjarn carefully in the eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it, walking out of the common area opposite the door Ylgr and Fjorm had used. Laegjarn followed, feeling herself compelled to follow her new roomate by some sort of inner urge. 

She would let Gunnthra try. She owed her that much.

Gunnthra’s path through the castle was awkward and winding. She took turns that Laegjarn never had, paused thoughtfully at nearly every junction, and sometimes reversed course entirely, retreading a hallway they’d already taken once or even twice already. Laegjarn was able to keep pace easily, but stayed silent, not entirely sure what to say in a situation like this. It reminded her of perhaps the sole aspect of Castle Muspell she had liked, the layout was simple and practical. She could trace the path from her bedroom to the throne room, up to the armory and down to the wyvern stables even now. The way to Laevatein’s room without passing by one of her father’s usual haunts was also ingrained in her.

“Are you going to ask if I’m lost?”

When Laegjarn looked ahead, Gunnthra was smiling as she spoke. “I’m sorry for the delay, I just found this room a few days ago. It’s hard to remember exactly where it was...and I’d rather not bother anyone with questions.”

“Understood.”

Eventually, the time that had passed thoroughly evading Laegjarn, they made it to an old white door. The paint was scratched, and this whole wing of the castle looked to be in worse shape than the others. Undaunted, Gunnthra reached for the handle and pushed the door open, stepping out into a small chamber. The first thing Laegjarn noticed was the lack of any ceiling. She’d seen that sort of design on rookeries and some wyvern stables, of course, but this room certainly wasn’t big enough for either of those purposes. Instead, there were merely a few dilapidated chairs, a table, and a shelf of labeled burlap sacks and bizarre tools. Stranger still, plots of what appeared to be untouched dirt sat were stationed at each corner.

“Is this some kind of garden?” Laegjarn asked, her nose tingling slightly with the vague scent of fresh dirt.

“It is. I had Sharena tell me about it.” Gunnthra’s tone was level as she sunk into one of the chairs, ignoring the groan of old wood beneath her. “Apparently, this was built a long time ago, but with the new addition of the castle gardens near the front gate, it was abandoned for the most part.”

“That does look like the case…” Laegjarn was certainly no expert with regards to gardens, but she knew well enough that there were typically plants in them. When she turned to ask Gunnthra why they were there, she felt a lump form in her throat.

From a pocket in her robes, Gunnthra had pulled out the small, familiar journal. She sat with it opened in her hands, lightly skimming. “You told me that this was a list of everyone you killed in Nifl. Is that true?”

Combat training kept her on her feet, what was once the fear of Surtr’s punishment for failure commuted to sheer unwillingness to break. Laegjarn nodded slowly, her face angled towards the ground. “As far as I know.”

“Is this all you remember?” Gunnthra’s tone wasn’t accusing or consoling, instead hovering somewhere in the middle. The ambiguity was like ice in Laegjarn’s veins.

“I have these...nightmares.” She felt weak just saying it out loud, not even Laevatein knew about those. But if anyone was owed an explanation, it was probably Gunnthra. “That’s where I see them. That’s how I know.”

“Sit down, please.”

She followed instructions, shakily settling into the chair next to Gunnthra’s. Their eyes met for a moment, and Laegjarn saw more resolve in the other Princess’ than she expected. Despite the airs she often put on, Gunnthra was clearly not as fragile as she looked. Her stare was still warm and soft, but something commanding lurked under the surface.

“I think I know something we can do.” Gunnthra cast her eyes over the room. “Have you ever been gardening, Laegjarn?”

She shook her head. “Muspell is very hazardous to plants, especially the region around the castle. It was never an interest for me.”

A little smile formed on Gunnthra’s lips. “Well, I don’t know how either, but I’m sure we can learn the basics together. We’re going to plant something for everyone in this book. Life for life. Does that sound fair?”

Laegjarn was taken aback. “That...that won’t bring them back.”

Gunnthra leaned forward, looking up with pleading eyes. “We can’t do that, Laegjarn. It’s a miracle that the two of us are even here now.” There was a certain pain in her voice, something halfway between regret and nostalgia. “I know it’s not perfect, but it’s something. Will you just try it with me?”

She was skeptical, but she wanted to hope. She missed hope terribly.

“I will, Gunnthra.”

Work in the garden was a slow, deliberate process. Although the bags were, according to Gunnthra, packed with seeds, they had decided to spend the first day preparing the plots of dirt. Over the years they had accumulated all sorts of debris and dust, and clearing that out was something that not even their unskilled hands could botch. Hopefully.

Laegjarn was pleasantly surprised by the way Gunnthra poured herself into the work. The former queen clearly wasn’t hesitant to get her hands dirty, eagerly diving into the soil to pull out deeply buried imperfections. Of course, being Gunnthra, she didn’t stop talking either.

“So, can you tell me about Helbindi?”

Midway through flattening a patch of disturbed dirt, Laegjarn blinked in surprise. “How do you know Helbindi?”

“Did you not know he was here?”

“I didn’t.” She supposed that didn’t shock her too much. She hadn’t parted with the warrior on fantastic terms, but she knew he opposed Surtr. He was certainly powerful enough to fit in somewhere like the Order.

“Ylgr won’t stop talking about him, you know. Says he’s the nicest scary man she’s ever known!” Gunnthra giggled, wiping a little sweat off of her forehead. “She normally doesn’t like strangers, so don’t take what happened this morning personally. She’ll warm up.”

Returning to her work, Laegjarn was digging away at a particularly stubborn chunk of foreign rock when Gunnthra spoke up again.

“I noticed something while I was reading that journal.”

It seemed she would have very few secrets from her new roommate. For some reason, that didn’t bother Laegjarn as much as it should have.

“I didn’t...don’t know how to write. Or read. Not well, anyway.” More closely guarded truths fell from her lips, and there was something oddly satisfying in watching the way Gunnthra listened. “So most of it is probably misspelled, or sloppy, or...I’m sorry.” 

Laegjarn lowered her head again, only to jolt upwards again as something freezing cold dripped onto the back of her neck. Shocked, she jerked her head towards Gunnthra. The ice princess had a mischievous grin, and was holding a finger in the air that was glowing a faint shade of blue.

“If you keep apologizing for things you shouldn’t be, I’m going to keep doing that!” Gunnthra laughed as Laegjarn rubbed the back of her neck, unharmed but unnerved by the experience. “It’s a Niflian prank. Fjorm and I used to do it near constantly as kids...so it’s officially banned at Castle Nifl now, you know!”

A flicker of mirth crossed Laegjarn’s face, Gunnthra’s cheer being contagious. “So I’m target practice now that you can do it again?”

“If you keep deserving it, then yes!” 

Laegjarn laughed quietly before turning back to her plot, working through the soil with renewed vigor. She didn’t realize it was the first time she’d laughed since waking up in the infirmary. Thankfully, Gunnthra certainly did. It was progress, not momentous, and not definitive. But it was something to be celebrated.

When the sun set and the pair had returned to their room, after a quick stop at Laegjarn’s to gather her clothes, Gunnthra almost immediately slid into bed. She yawned loudly, stretching her arms and patting the other side of the mattress.

“There’s room for you, you know!”

Laegjarn blanched, a bizarre heat rising to her cheeks.

“I’ll just use the floor. I don’t want to take up your space.”

Frustrated, Gunnthra waved an arm through empty air. “I’m not using it! I don’t take up that much room!”

But Laegjarn was already on the ground, a single pillow resting underneath her head as she curled in on herself, knees rising to her chest. Gunnthra watched as Laegjarn’s fingers vibrated and her toes curled. She would know these signs anywhere.

“You’re freezing, aren’t you?”

Laegjarn was silent, staring quietly at the foot of the bed. To her surprise, Gunnthra hopped down, lying flat across from her. She raised an eyebrow, and Gunnthra replied with a confident smirk.

“If you’re not using the bed, neither will I. Deal?”

Damn. She would have to learn never to underestimate the Ice Princess again. Defeated, Laegjarn rose to her feet, shaking her head as she climbed into one side of the bed. As she pulled the covers over herself, a pleasant and familiar comfort drifted through her body. She was barely aware of Gunnthra sliding in on the other side, smiling over with one cheek on the pillow.

“If you get too cold again, just snuggle up.”

For the second time, the terrible cheek-heat returned, and Laegjarn’s heart pounded.

“Excuse me?”

Gunnthra’s eyes widened, like that reaction was somehow unwarranted. “It’s a Nifl custom. When the winter months come, it’s often important to have someone with you during the night for warmth! This is nothing for me, but given what you’re used to, I imagine it’s not easy to deal with. So feel free to snuggle in, if you need it.”

WIth that, Gunnthra turned on her back, sighing quietly as she gazed up at the ceiling. Laegjarn wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Still, she took solace in knowing the option was there if the cold got to be too much for her. Even if she didn’t want to use it. She didn’t, did she?

“Thank you. For everything.” Laegjarn said, half whispering.

“We just have to go one day at a time.”

Gunnthra’s gaze hadn’t left the ceiling, but the hints of a smile tugged at her lips.

“Tomorrow, we do it again. And we’ll keep going as long as you need to.” A fleeting sensation of warmth spread through Laegjarn’s chest. “Goodnight, Laegjarn. Until tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

That warmth in her chest was enough to swiftly lull her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gunnthra showed up and made the story all soft and fluffy, I'm sorry, I've lost control of the angst, it's been ripped away!
> 
> Don't worry, it will be back. This is a deeper seated problem than one day can solve, unfortunately.
> 
> I tried for a while to write this chapter without any hint of romance, because I didn't want to surprise anyone by changing the tags, but then I realized that these two are adorable together and my heart melted. Sorry, I'm very sappy.
> 
> Feedback is welcome as always. Thank you very much for reading.


	7. Harbinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laegjarn's past catches up with her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter posted with some incorrect formatting! Should be fixed now.

Snow crunched beneath her boots as she ran towards the source of the screams.

_Oh no. Not here again. Please, no, anywhere but here._

She took familiar steps, the mixed sensations of heat and cold hitting her skin and sending her thoughts into overdrive. 

_This isn’t happening. It’s already happened. It’s already happened. Stop._

Surtr stood before the ruined fortress, a bloody and battered form dropped at his feet. She heard someone- _Fjorm_ -screaming at the tyrant as he hoisted Sinmara above his head, embers falling and making sharp hisses in the snow. _Not her. No, no, no._

Gunnthra slowly pushed herself up on her hands, weakly smiling at Fjorm in the distance. Her mouth moved, but Laegjarn couldn’t hear her over the pounding deep within her own chest. She tried to call out, but Gunnthra didn’t meet her gaze. Of course she didn’t, Laegjarn hadn’t made a sound. She was a prisoner in her own body, marching back to Surtr’s side. She tried to close her eyes, but had no control.

_Stay steady. It’s not real._

She had no power as the flames burst from Sinmara’s head, tumbling down onto Gunnthra’s prone form. The fire spread slowly, licking across Gunnthra’s back as her beautiful gown crinkled and charred. She didn’t cry out, though, ever gazing at Fjorm with hopeful eyes. _I’m so sorry I didn’t stop him._

When the inferno took her, Laegjarn didn’t even stop for a second glance. She left Gunnthra’s corpse to burn away in the snow. 

She could have sworn she saw her father grin with approval.

Laegjarn shook herself awake, madly clawing at the sheets that felt like they were suffocating her. The familiar chill of the Nifl dormitories bit at her exposed extremities. It was uncomfortable, but at least it proved she was awake. Still in a mild panic, she turned her head to the right, exhaling slowly when she saw Gunnthra lying there. The princess of Nifl was sound asleep, her head buried in a pillow and her hair radiating out below her. In one piece, alive. Or, rather, as close to alive as she and Laegjarn could consider themselves to be.

It was good enough to soothe Laegjarn’s nerves. Here was something that not even Surtr had been able to truly destroy. She lay back on the pillow again, closing her eyes and listening to the slow rhythm of Gunnthra’s breaths. Eventually, it lulled her to sleep, and this time there was no nightmare to greet her.

The past week had given Laegjarn a schedule. She would wake up, or be woken by Gunnthra, get dressed, eat, and then leave for the garden. Each day, Gunnthra seemed to be improving slightly at remembering exactly where the room was, so the trips became gradually shorter. They had begun the planting in earnest now, with Gunnthra celebrating as Laegjarn covered the first seed in topsoil. 

“I hope it grows into something nice!” she had cheered. Laegjarn raised an eyebrow and glanced back in shock.

“You don’t know what these seeds are?”

Gunnthra blanched. “I thought you did, it was written on the bags I gave you.” 

“Princess Gunnthra. I can’t read.”

Taking it in, Gunnthra nodded slowly...before starting to giggle under her breath. The giggles gradually bubbled up, growing louder as Gunnthra’s face reddened and her head hung.

“We really aren’t very good at this!”

Unable to help herself, Laegjarn laughed as well, something about Gunnthra’s joy feeling utterly contagious. It really wasn’t that funny, but soon enough Gunnthra was wiping tears out of her eyes and trying to catch her breath. She beamed at Laegjarn, grinning widely beneath sparkling eyes.

“I think that’s the second time I’ve made you laugh, Laegjarn!”

Laegjarn found herself treasuring time spent in the garden over anything else. She couldn’t help but feel like many of her fellow Heroes were still wary of her, either from her previous allegiance to Surtr or her episode in the Great Hall. She often felt guilty or weak sitting in the mess hall, bombarded by fear of being looked down upon and guilt that she had been brought so low. She could command the respect of hundreds of soldiers, once, but that felt like a lifetime ago. With Gunnthra, though, there was a sense of control. She could plant, she could work, and she could one day create something that would bring joy rather than pain.

Gunnthra herself certainly didn’t hurt matters. She was slowly but surely easing Laegjarn into deeper conversations about her past, typically invoking Laevatein’s name to guarantee more than a few words out of her roommate’s mouth.

“Are you going to reply to that letter Laevatein sent soon?” 

Laegjarn paused midway through digging a small hole for the next seed, catching a dirt clump between her fingers. It had been a few days since told Gunnthra about that, and she was a little surprised to hear it come up.

“If you want, I can just transcribe it for you. I know you’re making good progress on your writing and all, but you don’t have to force yourself to wait if you don’t want to.”

“I want her to get to read something I wrote.” Laegjarn returned to her work, speaking as she methodically crushed up the dirt in her hands. “She told me to wait until I had fulfilled my duties here, so I want to make sure I can give her the best of news. I want to make her happy.”

“It sounds like that’s what you’ve wanted for a long time.” Gunnthra’s tone was soft as ever.

“There’s not much joy in Muspell, at least where we grew up. But she’s so courageous and so strong, she deserves every bit of it I can scrape out.” Laegjarn withdrew a seed from the bag and started to walk back to the open plot. “She was the only thing that was worth fighting for.” Her face darkened. “Dying for.”

One morning, Gunnthra didn’t want to get out of bed. Fjorm called for one of the castle healers, and the elderly man who arrived assured Laegjarn that it was simply a bad case of cold.

“No need to fret,” he claimed, holding tight to his healing staff, “she’ll just need a day or two’s bedrest and she’ll be back to fighting shape.” 

After he left, Fjorm hopped into the bed and grabbed one of Gunnthra’s hands.

“You heard the healer, sis. Stick to bed today, okay?”

Gunnthra groaned, lolling her head back in the bed. She looked up at Laegjarn with sleepy eyes and spoke with a slight hitch in her voice.

“Sorry, Laegjarn. I won’t be able to make it to our usual spot today. You go have fun for me, okay?”

Laegjarn shook her head, standing at attention. “I will not leave your side. Should you need anythi-EEE!”

A thoroughly undignified yelp came out as a tiny patch of ice was summoned and melted on the back of her neck. Gunnthra was holding out a magically charged fingertip, giving her best attempt at an intimidating glare whilst bedridden.

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine. Go have fun.”

With that, Gunnthra roughly tugged several blankets over her head and burrowed into the pillow, softly groaning. Fjorm smiled and stood up, ushering a hesitant Laegjarn out of the dormitory. “She gives you the freeze too, huh? Normally that’s just family members.”

“I’m honored.” Laegjarn stated, unsure of why Fjorm was suddenly laughing.

“I’ve heard you used to be a tactician in Muspell. Would it be alright for me to ask you for a favor today, if you won’t be with Gunnthra?”

The question raised mixed emotions in Laegjarn’s heart. It was true that she had been in charge of many of the Muspell army’s most successful maneuvers, but her pride in that had been faltering since her return. Her role as a Tactician was also mostly given to compliment her sister’s strength in battle, which Laegjarn was never quite able to match. Surtr made no secret of which position was more disposable. Still, it was one of her strengths, and she couldn't let Fjorm and her family down in good conscience.

“I am at your command.” she replied, adjusting the horned crown atop her head.

After a quiet breakfast, Fjorm lead her to one of the castle’s many training rooms. “There’s going to be a mock battle held on the grounds,” Fjorm explained as they walked through the halls, “I’m part of one of the teams, so is Hrid. Apparently the Summoner wants us to be ready in case the Tempest springs up again. We’ve been trying to put a battle plan together, and we could really use a tactician’s assistance. The other team apparently talked to Soren, so it’s only fair we use our own secret weapon…”

Laegjarn nodded, not sure who Soren was, but supposing she should be flattered by the comparison. As Fjorm pushed open the doors, Laegjarn noticed Hrid in the group of people inside. He was looking over a crisp battle map, surrounded by several figures she assumed had to be his teammates. The prince caught Laegjarn’s eye as she entered, then beckoned her over, a smile on his face.

“Ah, Fjorm, I see your recruitment drive went well! Everyone, this is Princess Laegjarn!”

An eclectic gathering of Heroes surrounded Hrid. A man far too scrawny to be anything other than a mage was first to speak up, waving a hand in the air.

“Hiya! I’m Henry! Love the crown, ever used it as a weapon? Seems pointy. I think it would work!”

The older man next to Henry scoffed, shaking his head at his excitable companion. “Devious tactic. I’m sure she’ll remember that next time she remembers her headgear but leaves all the weapons at home.” He extended one hand, letting the other push a sheathe of grey hair out of his eye. “Legault. Hurricane. Whatever name you prefer is fine, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

As Laegjarn shook Legault’s hand, another pair of heroes left the table and approached her, both bowing deeply. “I am Sheena of Gra.” the first announced, a young woman clad in heavy red armor. She sounded as if being regal was a bit of a difficult task, her bow exceptionally rigid as if she was trying to force herself not to move. Her companion was much smoother about it, and he had an exceptionally warm expression on his youthful face.

“Marth of Altea. We’re honored to have your assistance, Princess.”

This had to be the legendary Prince Marth who Jagen discussed so often. She had expected someone older, or perhaps with a fearsome scowl. In fact, the muscular last man at the table looked far more like a dragon slayer than the blue haired prince.

“Ogma.” His voice, like his face, was rough but welcoming. “Sorry I’m the grand finale, I’m just a mercenary. We’ve got another teammate, but she’s off taking care of a few errands, she oughta be back soon enough.”

Fjorm looked up at Laegjarn and smiled, encouragement writ large on her face. The room’s attention was on the Flame Princess, and the unease that came from such a large array of Heroes watching her was mitigated by the thrill of commanding again. She banished the fear, stood tall, and walked towards the planning table.

“Thank you, everyone. Good to meet you. Now let’s get to-”

Laegjarn’s inspiring speech was cut off as two powerful arms lifted her up from behind, pulling her into an inescapable hug. She would recognize the violet hair that was swaying around her peripheral vision anywere.

“Leggy! Darling! You’re on your feet again, that’s wonderful!”

Amidst the laughs that broke out, Hrid flashed a subdued smile.

“Well then. I see you’ve already met Camilla. She’s our eighth.”

While very few of Laegjarn’s memories in the armies of Muspell were positive, she had a soft spot for nights spent leaning over battle maps, drawing formation lines and thinking about tactics. A tactician’s job was to keep their army as safe as possible, and that had always seemed to her like a noble pursuit. Time spent directing her troops was time she wasn’t worrying about Surtr’s wrath, and the more successful she was, the more of them got to make it home.

Of course, those stakes didn’t apply for the mock battle she was now a part of orchestrating. Two teams of eight heroes would face off in the castle courtyard with training weapons. The winners were the first to “slay” all of their opponents. A simple objective, but the sheer size of Castle Askr’s courtyard made it an interesting battlefield to work with regardless. She started by assessing the strengths of her soldiers.

Camilla was by far their most mobile asset, although Legault could outspeed nearly any unmounted soldier. Hrid and Ogma were extremely powerful swordsmen, but they didn’t seem fast enough to perform infantry flanking strikes. Thankfully, Fjorm and Prince Marth had that area covered. Sheena was outfitted with heavy armor, making her ideal for defensive tactics, while Henry… Well, Laegjarn assumed Henry was a mage, but therather vague and visceral descriptions he gave of his abilities made it hard to tell. If he was a mage, anyway, he’d be vital to any long range engagements, especially because their group had no archers.

The atmosphere of the planning room was much different than she was used to back in Muspell. Her companions frequently offered their own ideas and opinions on topics of discussion, and Laegjarn felt a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of voices at first. Thankfully, Marth seemed to be an old hand at this sort of thing, and he managed to direct the conversation into an organized stream of ideas.

“So, that’s our basic formation decided.” Laegjarn tapped her nails on the table, surveying the room. “Understood?”

Hrid chuckled, smiling at the diagram she had scribbled onto the map. “So, this is how you managed to outpace me back in Nifl so often. I’m glad you’re on my side this time.”

A general sense of agreement radiated through the gathered Heroes.

“We’ve got three days until this goes down…” Legault was fiddling with his dagger, scanning the canvas map with his one good eye. “What do we know about our opponents?”

“That was going to be my next question.” Laegjarn added. “Are we aware of any of the enemy’s ranks?”

“Cain and Abel are opposing us.” Marth said. Ogma groaned in response.

“Two of the toughest cavaliers I’ve ever had the pleasure of fighting alongside. That’ll be tricky.”

Laegjarn nodded, quickly sketching a pair of triangles on the canvas. Muspell shorthand for cavalry. “Anyone else know any of our foes?”

“Prince Ryoma.” Camilla crossed her arms. “A Hoshidan samurai, has a magical blade. Even getting glanced by that thing will leave you shaky for days.”

“Any weaknesses?” Laegjarn asked.

“He’s a little tough to chat with. But I assume that’s not what you meant, dear.” 

The conversation around their foes continued until the door at the edge of the room opened. Laegjarn’s heart skipped a beat as Minerva stepped through the frame, her hair partially matted to her face with sweat.

“Sorry to interrupt. Have any of you seen a green headband? Think I left it here…” 

“Ah!” Sheena piped up. “Of course, Princess Minerva is one of our opponents!”

“What?” Marth was laughing, a smile crossing his face. “Well, we’re most certainly in for a fight, then!”

Minerva returned his remark with a grin, slowly making her way around the room’s perimeter as she scanned the furniture. When her eyes landed on Laegjarn, she widened them a bit, but made no verbal remark.

“Trying to spy on us, Princess?” Ogma playfully covered the mat with his arms. “Seems more like something your brother would do.” Somewhere under the table, a hand reached out for one of Laegjarn’s hands and gave it a tight squeeze. She didn’t even realize her hands had been shaking until now. Camilla gave her a reassuring wink.

The Macedonian snorted at the mention of her brother, shaking her head as she leaned down to pick up the lost accessory. “Got it. See you all on the field.” As she turned to leave, Laegjarn caught sight of a familiar scabbard slung over her back. It was unremarkable, black leather pockmarked by time and use, but to her, it stood out like nothing else.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Laegjarn slowly pursued Minerva, pulling her hand gently free of Camilla’s grip. Fjorm gave her a puzzled look as she left, but didn’t make any moves to stop her from exiting into the hallway.

“Minerva?” 

Thankfully, the princess hadn’t gone far. She turned, giving Laegjarn a full view of the way her crimson hair framed her face. Though they were about the same height, Minerva had a way of standing taller than was natural through sheer intimidation. One side of her mouth tilted slightly upwards.

“Glad you came out here yourself. If Camilla was here, I’m not sure she wouldn’t be trying to separate my head from my body right now.”

“Is that…”

Laegjarn had assumed it was taken by Alfonse or Lucius while she was in the infirmary. She couldn’t comprehend why Minerva would have it, unless…

“Is that Niu?”

More solemnly than Laegjarn expected, Minerva nodded, swinging the scabbard around her body and pulling a tiny bit of the blade from it. It sparkled, even in the bright hall, its burning touch clear to any onlookers.

“It is.” Minerva spoke as if she were discussing the weather. “I want you to understand, I’m not trying to punish you.”

“Did you take that from me after you knocked me out?” A faint bit of fire seemed to awaken in her gut. Laegjarn hadn’t felt angry with someone else in quite a while.

Minerva sighed. “I did. Laegjarn, I’m glad you seem to be doing better, but I’ve seen soldiers in your position before.” Her face fell. “And I don’t trust them with weapons as powerful as this. I barely trust myself with it, so I’m keeping it safe.”

The realization dawned on Laegjarn slowly. Minerva was, in her own way, trying to look out for her. Still, the blatant theft of her most prized possession...the one thing that had stayed with her from her previous life...it fueled her inner flame.

“Return my weapon, Minerva.”

“Prove to me that you can handle it.” The guilt was gone from Minerva’s expression. “I’ll give it back when you do. Show me you’re ready to fight again.”

Not waiting for a response, Minerva walked away, Niu still slung across her back. Laegjarn watched her blade fade into the distance, and silently returned to the training room. She’d have it back someday.

The remainder of the day’s planning went by quickly. Her allies were clearly experienced, taking very little time to get used to working with one another. Some, she learned, were old friends, Fjorm and Hrid being an obvious pair, but Marth worked very well with Sheena and Ogma as well. Granted, Marth worked rather well with everyone. Laegjarn was beginning to see why Jagen held so much respect for the young man.

Before she knew it, it was dark, and Laegjarn was the only one still in the training room, hunched over the map by candlelight. Once her vision blurred and her legs ached, she decided to finally return to her bedchambers, slowly making her way back with the candle still in hand.

Her thoughts were conflicted. The thought of Niu in the hands of someone else stoked an ancient grudge she’d been taught to uphold, but Minerva didn’t seem to be acting out of malice. The Macedonian princess was one of the first people she had considered an ally. Laegjarn didn’t want to believe that she was suddenly an enemy. There was Laevatein to consider as well, she didn’t want to keep her sister waiting too long for a response, but wanted to ensure Laevatein could read good news. She wanted to allow Laevatein to draw strength from her big sister, and to serve as a role model. It was one of the few things she could do for her under Surtr’s watchful eyes, and she didn’t want that to change either.

When she finally reached the room she and Gunnthra shared, she was tired of thinking. Sleep seemed preferable. After changing into her nightclothes, Laegjarn noticed unusual movements on the bed. Something was wrong with Gunnthra.

The Niflian princess was twitching, as if she was trying to lift an imaginary weight from her neck. Her whole body trembled as her quiet whispers elevated themselves to moans.

“No...stop...no...not in front of her…”

Laegjarn nearly dropped the candle she carried as she realized what Gunnthra had to have been reliving.

_Not her._

“Gunnthra. Gunnthra!” Laegjarn shook her forcefully with one hand, desperate to rescue her roommate from the nightmare. “Get up, please. It’s not real.”

Gunnthra didn’t awaken. Her eyes were shut tight, and she only trembled harder as her voice rose even further.

“Don’t hurt me...let me go...I didn’t do anything...please, I don’t want to die…”

_This isn’t happening._

Laegjarn shook harder, every plea from Gunnthra’s mouth salting old wounds and opening new ones. She didn’t deserve this, not someone as pure as Gunnthra. “Wake up! Wake up!”

The next few moments felt twice as long in Laegjarn’s mind.

Gunnthra’s eyes suddenly shot open, and she swept them up Laegjarn’s darkened form, the burning candle clutched in Laegjarn’s hand slowly flickering. She screamed.

With a swift arm motion, Gunnthra conjured a burst of icy wind that immediately doused the candle and sent the unexpecting Laegjarn careening into the nearby wall. As the princess of Muspell crumpled to the floor, Gunnthra retreated, pressing her back against the headboard.

“Stay back! Don’t hurt me! Stay back! Please, have mercy!”

Now visible in the moonlight streaming in from outside, Laegjarn could see a version of Gunnthra that she’d never encountered before. Her calm face had fear scrawled across it, her eyes wide and her mouth agape. She continued to scream.

“Don’t hurt my family! Anyone but them, don’t do it!”

The door slammed open as Hrid and Fjorm rushed in, both clad in bedclothes and barely gripping their weapons.

“Laegjarn!” Hrid called, reaching a hand down as Fjorm ran to her sister’s side, “What happened?”

Fjorm’s arms were wrapped around Gunnthra’s shoulders, rocking her slowly back and forth as she whispered comforting words into her ears. Guunthra’s eyes never left Laegjarn, but her screaming quieted to whispers.

Using Hrid’s hand for leverage, Laegjarn struggled to her feet, looking desperately at the horrified face of the prince of Nifl.

“She was having a nightmare. I tried to wake her, but I think she thought I was-”

_I’m so sorry I didn’t stop him._

“Surtr.” 

Hrid grimaced, giving Fjorm a worried look. The younger princess nodded and continued to dote on Gunnthra, holding her tightly.

Laegjarn should have been feeling the ache on her back crawl across her body. It would have been preferable to the shame radiating from her mind. Of course Gunnthra hadn’t fully recovered, how could she? She had been burned to death by Laegjarn’s father, and every moment next to her must have felt like a reminder. She was, even now, a harbinger of Surtr.

_No, no, no._

She limped towards the door, her shoulders quivering as she walked.

“Are you hurt?” Hrid looked concerned.

“I need to go.”

“Laegjarn!” He reached for her arm, but she swerved away, backpedaling closer to the door.

“I’m sorry. I need to go. I’m so sorry.”

Fjorm reached towards her, shaking her head. Gunnthra continued to stare, her gaze making the hair on the back of Laegjarn’s neck stand up.

“Laegjarn?”

The name was quiet, like it was barely a whisper, but it was Gunnthra’s voice. Scratchy and pained. It reminded her of that day so harshly she could almost feel the snow crunching beneath her boots once more.

She ran.

Out into the dormitory, through the halls, desperate to be anywhere but there. Somewhere she couldn’t hurt anyone, couldn’t hurt Gunnthra. She wanted to leave her body behind, escape from being the daughter of Surtr forever, but no matter how fast she ran, her past seemed to always catch up. 

She didn’t know where she was going, dashing through the castle’s dark corridors in the dead of night. All that mattered was distance. She ran until her legs couldn’t run anymore, and slumped against the wall. Her head spun and her thoughts clamored, but the image of Gunnthra frozen in fear stuck in the forefront of her mind. Laegjarn was cold, so cold, but she didn’t notice. She simply waited until sleep claimed her.

Better the devil she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for continuously banishing Laegjarn to the Misery Zone, but the plot demands it and I'm sorry!
> 
> Leave feedback and I will slide candy down the chute leading there for her.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading and have a lovely day!


	8. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laegjarn faces her feelings.

When she awoke, a blanket was draped over her body. Laegjarn slowly stirred, back still aching from the impact in her room, sleeping against a stone wall having done little to soothe the pain. Still, at least no nightmares had come for her. She glanced down in confusion at the blanket, sure she hadn’t brought one herself the previous evening.

“Are you awake, Princess?”

Sitting next to her against the wall, teacup in his hands, was Jagen, cautiously looking her over. She nodded and straightened her back, watching the morning sun shine in through the window. After a stretch, she spoke.

“How did you find me?”

Jagen chuckled, sipping his tea slowly.

“I think you found me. Look around.”

The hall was familiar, extremely familiar, in fact. Laegjarn suddenly realized that this was right outside her old dormitory. She recognized her door, dark wood with a single light gash down the center from some accident before her time. She supposed that while she ran last night, her legs had simply carried her somewhere that could be considered close to “home”.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I pray you understand my worry when I got up this morning and found you slumped outside your old room.” Jagen gave her a wrinkled frown. “It’s been a while since you came for a lesson. How are you holding up, Laegjarn?”

Laegjarn had had enough of secrets, so she told the old knight everything. About Gunnthra’s joyful morning awakenings, about the garden, the mock battle, her confrontation with Minerva, and most recently, how she had terrified the person who seemed to care for her most in the castle. Jagen remained silent, draining his teacup fairly early into the conversation. He nodded as she finished, seeming to be deep in thought.

“Princess Minerva has always been steadfast in her aims. I do not agree with her actions, of course, but I am certain that she will see reason. Would you like me to speak with her on your behalf?”

Laegjarn shook her head, and Jagen snickered.

“Ah, youth and their pride. Very well, I’ll stay out of it. About Gunnthra…”

“I need to see her.” The response came out quickly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jagen raised an eyebrow as Laegjarn continued, her hands balled into tight fists.

“She’s hurting. I can’t stand that, not after all she’s been doing for me. She’s just so kind and gentle, and I don’t understand why she can be, but…” She leaned her head back and sighed. “I want to help her too. Someone like that doesn’t deserve to be upset.”

There was a gentle clatter as Jagen adjusted the teacup on its plate, sending a light clinking sound echoing through the hall. He smirked.

“Then I don’t know why you’re sitting here talking with an old man! Go to her side, like Heroes do!” Jagen turned to her, a wry smile on his face. “You’re a hero now, aren’t you?”

Something told Laegjarn she’d be in the garden. Sure, the elderly healer had asked her to get a few days worth of bedrest, but Laegjarn knew a few things about Gunnthra by now. Chief among them was just how stubborn she was, and she had a feeling that another day in bed wouldn’t be in the cards for her. So, instead of returning to her room, Laegjarn found herself crossing the threshold into their abandoned garden.

Gunnthra was sitting at the table in the center of the room, the morning sun projecting her shadow on the far wall. She looked slighter than Laegjarn had seen her before, as if the wind could break her in half. That didn’t stop her from nearly jumping to her feet when she saw Laegjarn enter. Shakily, Gunnthra ran towards her, not stopping until they met near the center of the room and Laegjarn was holding her steady at the sides. Gunnthra threw her arms around Laegjarn and hugged her tightly, hoarsely whispering.

“You’re here.”

Gunnthra nestled her head in the fabric of Laegjarn’s nightgown, squeezing her closer. Laegjarn felt a warmth in her chest that pleasantly mingled with the natural chill of the Niflian’s body, creating a pleasant tingling sensation across her torso. 

“I am. I’m so sorry about last night.”

Gunnthra groaned, pulling back and gently tugging Laegjarn’s arm. “Come on. Sit down with me and we can talk, okay?”

Thankfullly, Gunnthra seemed to have the strength to walk back to the table without falling. She was still obviously not feeling well, given the rasp in her voice and the constant sniffles coming from her nose, but Laegjarn took solace in the fact that the cold at least didn’t seem to be getting any worse. She was the first to speak when they both got settled in chairs.

“If you want me to leave, please tell me. I understand how I could remind you of Surtr.” Gunnthra flinched slightly at the mention of the name, and Laegjarn hated herself for not noticing it before. “I cannot change who my father is, but I can at least ensure that his memory does not cause you undue harm.”

A frown spread across Gunnthra’s haggard features. “I should have been more honest with you. It’s true, I still have trouble when I think about...your father.” Before Gunnthra could shudder again, Laegjarn rested her hand on the table, looking uneasily at her roommate. With a smile, Gunnthra rested a palm atop Laegjarn’s. “And I still don’t do well around fire. It sets something off in me, and I...I say things that I shouldn’t.” Laegjarn felt a squeeze on her hand, and returned the favor, hoping she was doing this right. “Please don’t blame yourself for what happened last night. This stupid illness and the lack of sleep messed with my head. It’s not your fault, Laegjarn. I feel utterly terrible that I may have made you think I was afraid of you.”

Laegjarn fidgeted a bit in her seat. She was easily capable of facing down feral wyverns and enemy armies, but in the face of forgiveness she found herself faltering. It would have been sad if it weren’t so ridiculous, she thought.

Gunnthra smiled. “I’m so fortunate to have you as my friend. I know you’re hurting too, and having someone with me makes it feel less frightening. And you’re so strong, Laegjarn, do you know that?”

Laegjarn’s face went pale. “Laevatein is strong.”

“I don’t doubt that. But you’ve endured so much that the fact that you’re even standing is remarkable. Fjorm told me you helped her and Hrid’s mock battalion yesterday, and I think I know why.” Gunnthra was beaming now, her gentle eyes focused on Laegjarn’s uncertain face. “You and I are fighting a battle every day. We can’t see the enemy, we can’t always even know it’s coming, but when it does, I can’t think of another tactician I want by my side. Please, Laegjarn. Stay and fight with me.”

“I don’t want you to have to look at me and see my father.”

The chair creaked as Gunnthra stood, slowly walking over to Laegjarn’s seat. She raised both arms, clapped them down on Laegjarn’s shoulders and kneeled, looking intently up at her. Laegjarn fought off the urge to blush. She wasn’t entirely sure why she even had it. Gunnthra spoke, her voice still soft even with the rasp that coated it.

“You are nothing like your father. You are caring, brave, clever, and most importantly, your heart still beats. I don’t think his ever did.”

It was odd, seeing Guunthra be so serious after all the instances of ice-pranks and giggles while gardening. Something about the way she spoke, though, reminded Laegjarn of what she thought a queen should be like, daydreaming as a child who didn’t know better. If one of her childhood fantasies had come true, she thought, it would be silly not to listen.

“I’ll fight with you, Gunnthra. We’ll both get through this.”

Gunnthra leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Laegjarn’s midsection. They spent the rest of the morning gardening, and Laegjarn suddenly found herself taking note of the beautiful way her roommate laughed.

In fact, it was like she was seeing Guunthra for the first time. The way her rose-tinted hair spilled so casually down her shoulders, the soft smile on her face as she worked away at the dirt, sliding it into uniform piles with delicate hands, and the way she smiled up at Laegjarn when she spoke with her. 

Although Laegjarn had a feeling she knew exactly what this feeling was, she was afraid of it being true. For all of her tactical expertise, this was a battle that she had no idea how to fight. So she just enjoyed the company, letting the darkest of her thoughts be held at bay for a few hours. That was worth it.

After bidding Guunthra farewell and urging her to go and get some rest, Laegjarn departed for the training room. Today she had energy, despite the horrible night prior, and chose to keep herself moving and working. The sun that shone brightly through the windows certainly didn’t hurt. It was a hot day in Askr, but to a Muspell native, the temperature was simply comfortable.

She was surprised to see a short man in a robe standing in front of the door to the training room adjacent the one her team had been using the previous day. A stack of books rested behind him, and he held a battle map in his hands. She could tell by the shape of it that it had to be the courtyard, and a memory of Fjorm’s words comes to mind.

“You must be Soren, then?”

Soren (she hoped) lifted his head from the map, scowling slightly. Immediately Laegjarn realized he may have not wanted to be disturbed.

“And you are Laegjarn.”

She nodded in response, and Soren hastily rolled the map closed, fastening it shut with a loud snap. Everything about the way he moved and spoke communicated a clear message, that Soren was not someone who enjoyed idle chatter. His full attention on Laegjarn now, he looked her over. “Was there something you wanted?”

“I heard you were brought on as tactician for one of the Mock Battle teams.” She smiled, trying to emulate the way Guunthra did it, warm and open. “I was chosen by the other, so I suppose that makes us rivals.”

A short burst of air escaped Soren’s lips. She hoped that was a laugh.

“Oh, really? You wouldn’t know this, but this is the second time. I was in charge of our troop movements during much of the Nifl campaign.” He pushes some hair away from his face, and Laegjarn notes an odd red marking that dominates his forehead. “You were a formidable opponent.”

Laegjarn opened her mouth to reply, but Soren raised a finger, cutting her off.

“That said, I do recall the way those battles ended, General Laegjarn. I was celebrating around a campfire with my comrades as you dangled from your wrists in a makeshift prison.”

She felt her heart leap a bit at the memory, the shame of that defeat threatening to color her cheeks.

“Soren, ease up, you’re coming off rude again.” boomed a voice she didn’t recognize. From the door Soren was standing in front of, an extremely muscular man emerged, shaking his head of deep blue hair. “We’re all friends here, in case you forgot.” He turned to Laegjarn, an apology clear on his chiseled face.

Soren nodded. “Indeed. Perhaps that was uncalled for. I really am looking forward to this battle...until then, General.”

As the pair walked away, Laegjarn chewed on her lip. She hadn’t really gotten a word in edgewise in that conversation. Still, the thought of seeing shock on Soren’s face when she potentially outdid him...that was pleasant.

“Laegjarn! We didn’t expect you tonight!”

As she entered the training room, Marth was the first to greet her. The makeshift team was scattered around the chamber, practicing all things from swordplay to strategy. Laegjarn’s vision focused on Hrid and Fjorm in particular. The Niflian siblings seemed to be eyeing her with equal parts surprise and pride.

“Fjorm told us you had urgent business with the wyverns. Is everything alright?” Marth asked.

Across the room, the princess gave Laegjarn a conspiratorial wink. Laegjarn resisted the reflexive tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Everything is resolved, Prince Marth. Thank you.” Laegjarn gave him the Muspell salute, out of habit. “Reporting for duty.”

There were only a few hours left in this second training session, which seemed to be far more organized than the first. Everyone seemed focused on their individual goals, leaving Laegjarn with admittedly little to do. She had already finalized a battle plan staying late last night, after all. For most of the evening, she simply sat by one of the windows, surveying the courtyard and making extra notes on the battle map.

As she looked up from drawing the shrubline that separated the north and south ends of the yard, a familiar face caught her eye. Lucius, the monk who had taken care of her after her breakdown in the Great Hall, was gently pulling someone by the arm across the yard, an uncommon look of frustration marring his delicate features. Between the familiar light-blue gown and the beautiful pink hair, Laegjarn instantly recognized his partner as Guunthra, who looked slightly embarrassed at the whole situation. 

She had told her to go back to bed!

As Laegjarn caught her eye, Guunthra waved with her free hand, grinning unexpectedly. Lucius, too, turned his attention her way and smiled. Still being dragged along, Guunthra gave a slight shrug, which made Laegjarn laugh under her breath. She shook her head in response, smiling softly at her more outgoing roommate. Laegjarn watched them trudge across the castle courtyard until they were out of sight, sighing softly as she returned to her map. A black-gauntleted hand blocked out her progress for a moment.

“Aw. Was that a little longing I spied on your face, Leggy?”

Camilla grinned as she wrapped an arm around Laegjarn’s shoulder. Suddenly she had no idea what to say.

“And what if it was? What should I do?”

To her surprise, Camilla had no immediate response. The Nohrian furrowed her brow and tapped her fingers against the wooden table in peals of rhythmic clacks.

“I’m not the expert on romance, I’m afraid. Haven’t been in a relationship in years.”

Once again, that shocked Laegjarn. Admittedly she had never been outside Muspell and Nifl, but in either of those countries Camilla would be considered extraordinarily beautiful. Camilla looked at her shocked expression and smiled weakly.

“I...don’t love correctly, dear. My affection pours out and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t want to lose control. So it’s just me, at least for now.” There was an uncommon sadness to the princess’s words. “But don’t let my woes fill your pretty head. Do you really like the Nifl girl?”

Reflexively, Laegjarn nodded. She wasn’t entirely sure why. “Maybe.”

Camilla giggled, more of her usual personality bursting back to the surface. “You just gave me two answers. Forgive me, but you’re a bit of a mess at this sort of thing, aren’t you? No former loves back in Muspell?”

Some of the soldiers under Laegjarn’s command had given her longing stares, she’d noticed. But no man or woman in Muspell was mad enough to make a move on Surtr’s daughter.

“No. My father made that difficult.”

“Oh, sweetie…” Camilla pulled Laegjarn tight against her. “Just let her know how you feel, when you’re ready. If you’d like to take your mind off of it, we can talk about the Mock Battle. Or cuddle. Or both.”

Laegjarn smirked. “I think I’ll take the first option.”

Practice concluded in a routine manner. This time, Laegjarn didn’t stay behind, letting herself walk back towards her room with Fjorm and Hrid. She felt an odd tingle run up her spine at the company, side by side with two of her former greatest rivals. She’d even crossed blades with Hrid multiple times during the invasion of Nifl, and seeing him treat her as a friend rather than a target still felt a little strange. 

“Say, Laegjarn...do you know where Guunthra got that nightmare?” Fjorm tilted her head inquisitively.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Laegjarn frowned. “What do you mean by “where”?”

“She hasn’t told you about her powers, then?”

“Her ice magic?”

Hrid cut in, his voice echoing slightly in the empty hall. “Guunthra has a very special power. She has control over dreams. She can appear in others’ dreams, influence them, and even communicate.”

“And she doesn’t have nightmares.” Fjorm added. “She can just banish her own, so the only time she gets that bad is when she spends too long in someone else’s dreams.”

Laegjarn felt the blood draining from her face. “Why would she want to do that?”

Hrid shrugged. “Charity, typically. She used to try and soothe people who had recurring nightmares by entering their dreams and sorta...siphoning the pain? You’d have to ask her exactly how it works, I don’t know the details.”

“I’ve only seen her get that bad once before.” Fjorm’s tone was hushed. “She kept trying to take away her old bodyguard’s nightmares after he was in a terrible accident that took his leg. One morning we found her screaming and clutching it, convinced it was gone.” Hrid shuddered, and a solemn quiet fell over the siblings. This was clearly a somewhat difficult topic.

“I remember that. So, if she’s been doing infirmary work, she might be up to that again.” He pursed his lips. “She’s a grown woman and she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but she can be a little too selfless. Laegjarn, will you keep an eye on her?”

Laegjarn was at an odd crossroads between being shocked and simply reassured. She had never asked for Guunthra to use her powers like that, and never would, if it meant inflicting potential harm. However, it was so typical of her nature, the kind and giving way she cared. The intrusive aching in her heart pulsed just a little bit faster.

“I will make sure she stops. I owe you all that much.”

“Thank you.” Hrid smiled. “By the way, Fjorm and I will be off on a scouting mission all day tomorrow, so we’ll see you next at the Battle.”

They had reached the entrance to the Nifl dormitories now, and Fjorm motioned with a finger to her lips. As she passed through the door, she quietly whispered.

“I’m looking forward to it. I wish you could be on the field with us, Laegjarn, we could use your skills!”

“And I, for one, would like a rematch someday. We never really settled things.” Hrid flashed a cocky smile.

Before departing for her room, Laegjarn smiled softly. “Someday, I hope to do both.”

There was a strange sense of peace in the dormitory at night. The room was utterly silent, except for Laegjarn’s footsteps, and she could feel the way her pulse crawled down her arms. Guunthra was there, tucked under the covers as her hair fell across a pillow, clearly sound asleep. Seeing her made Laegjarn reflect on what she’d learned. Clearly their talk would have to wait until tomorrow, although Laegjarn certainly didn’t want Guunthra taking the brunt of her nightmares any longer. Any mention of a crush that may or may not exist would also have to be tabled for a much later date.

She climbed into bed as quietly as possible, gently slipping herself beneath the blankets and slowly rolling her body across the mattress. The chill of the dormitory nipped at her skin, and she barely held herself back from shivering.

Well. There was one way to deal with this.

Her pulse quickening, Laegjarn finally decided to take Guunthra up on another one of her offers. She delicately slid into Gunnthra’s outstretched arms, bringing herself to rest so close that she could hear the gentle pattern of her roommate’s breaths. Her pale skin was still chilly, but a pleasant type of cold, reminding Laegjarn of washing the ash from her face after a long day’s patrol. She let herself curl up to that strange cold, somehow so much more comfortable than the empty chill of the rest of the room, and closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fairly straightforward chapter this time. A lot happier than usual.
> 
> Since I don't have much to say, I'd like to share some of the music I used while writing this. I really got into Caity-Cat's cover of "Oblivion" from the Final Fantasy 14 OST. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3PYvy6vVqQk
> 
> I think it parallels the story I've given Laegjarn in this fic very well! Just mentally swap the ice imagery for fire imagery, I suppose :p
> 
> Please feel free to leave any feedback, it always makes my day. Thanks for reading!


	9. Skirmish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laegjarn's tactics are put to the test as the Order's forces clash.

A crisp breeze blew through the courtyard, lightly tossing Laegjarn’s hair and mixing red strands with green. She was sitting on one of the castle balconies, overlooking the day’s mock battlefield. Diligently arranged shrubs and topiaries functioned as makeshift walls and barricades, and the sheer size of the sprawling field made it serve as an ideal small-scale skirmish area. She couldn’t quite make out the faces of her team, but she could tell that they were all on the field. It seemed much of the other team had arrived as well.

Two cavaliers stood at the head of their group, each next to a horse. She assumed this had to be Cain and Abel, judging by the bright colors of their armor matching some of the stories she’d heard from Ogma and Jagen. Behind them was a young man in striking red armor that seemed to climb up his skin like an insect’s shell, the only generous slit within making room for his long dark hair. He was discussing something with a woman who had a large ponytail and what Laegjarn recognized as a Hoshidan outfit, judging by what she’d seen on other heroes. The man had to be Prince Ryoma, then, but she had no guess to the woman’s identity. Each flank seemed to hold a contrasting mage, the one on the left an excitable stretching young woman with bright pink hair, and the one on the right a much more subdued looking young man. Most confusingly, though, a lone man took up the center of their formation. Laegjarn was familiar with the tactic of leaving a strong core in an army, which his well-built physique seemed to suggest, but this particular man seemed entirely unarmed. He was crouched down, combing through the grass. 

A small frown crossed Laegjarn’s lips. She had hoped that she would be able to gauge the enemy force more easily upon seeing them, but there were several unknowns in the group. She briefly considered waving Camilla over on her wyvern to ask for more information, but decided it was needless. Fretting about the battle wouldn’t change the outcome at this stage, not with her participation confined to watching from the sidelines. 

“I hope I didn’t miss anything!”

Gunnthra sat carefully in the chair beside her, giving Laegjarn a smile before gazing out at the horizon. The wind gently scattered the pink locks at the base of her neck.

“They haven’t started yet.” Laegjarn said. “Looks like they’re still missing someone, by my count.”

As if in response, a wyvern shrieked in the distance, briefly covering the balcony in a winged shadow as it passed overhead. Minerva swiftly descended on her mount, landing effortlessly in the middle of the field. Laegjarn watched as a diminutive figure jumped off the wyvern’s back, taking Minerva’s hand as they both walked towards the side of the courtyard where Alfonse sat. Due to the color of her hair, she assumed this young girl had to be Maria. Maria took a seat near the Prince, and Minerva started to return to the field, her shoulders pressed back in an unmistakably military posture. Though she was too far away to make out the woman’s expression, Laegjarn could have sworn she felt Minerva’s eyes fall upon her. She returned the look, refusing to be daunted again.

“Oh, hello! Please, sit!”

Guunthra’s greeting caused Laegjarn to break her gaze and glance over her shoulder at the two men entering the balcony. Soren seemed as irritable as she had seen him the other day, offering only a curt nod to the welcome. His companion, though, offered an excitable wave, his words only stifled by the bite he’d just taken out of what appeared to be an exceptionally large cooked bird leg of some sort. Unfortunately, growing up in Muspell didn’t offer Laegjarn much culinary expertise. They took the two chairs to Laegjarn and Guunthra’s left side, Soren deterring any further conversation attempts by immediately burying his face in a notebook.

With Minerva’s arrival, each side began to take a more rigid formation. The jovial chatter slowed to a stop, and soon the light impacts of Guunthra’s hood blowing against the back of her chair and the crisp flaps of Soren’s notebook pages were the only sounds to be heard.

In truth, this was where Laegjarn was most comfortable, the silence before a battle. She had been renowned for her ability to stay resolute under pressure, calm and calculating even before a larger enemy force. In Surtr’s army, it was a tactic she used to ensure the respect of her soldiers, proving to them that she was worthy of being their commander. Here, though, it was almost an apology, a rebuttal of the day in the hall that she had faltered. She wanted to show everyone that she could still be relied upon, especially Guunthra, and even more so herself.

An ear-piercing whistle from the castle gates broke the silence, and Laegjarn felt Guunthra jump a little. She resisted the sudden urge to move a palm over to her roommate’s knee, not entirely sure why she had it in the first place. A woman with a long red ponytail emerged, probably the source of the whistle. That was Commander Anna. Laegjarn had only met her a few times as a member of the Order before mission deployments, but knew she had heavy involvement in the Muspell campaign.

“Please allow me to state the rules once more!” Anna’s voice rose as high as the balconies, clearly a talent she’d honed over many years of serving in Askr’s military. “This is a Mock Battle, the winners will be the team who can outlast the other! We have provided everyone with training weapons, you may not use any other form of armaments! To eliminate an opponent, you must disarm them, get them to surrender, or incapacitate them! Do not strike with the intent to cause harm, although we have healers on standby! Any malicious behavior will result in disqualification!”

“Laying it on a bit thick, isn’t she?” Soren drawled.

The man next to him chuckled, midway through a bite of poultry. “Better than just telling everyone to hit each other. That’s what we did, wasn’t it?”

Laegjarn, too, was thankful for the precautions. She’d seen too many promising recruits maimed or broken in overambitious training. Most of them had wanted to fight anyway, and nearly invariably died in their first battles.

“We will begin when my count finishes!” Anna’s voice boomed.

“Five! Four!”

The familiar feeling of imminent conflict send blood rushing through Laegjarn’s body. Although the lack of Niu on her back felt more evident than ever, she could sense familiar adrenaline starting to pulse through her. Something landed on her kneecap, and she whirled her head to check.

“Three! Two!”

Guunthra seemed focused entirely on her siblings, despite the outstretched hand and the way her fingers were starting to slowly squeeze the skin on Laegjarn’s knee. Beating her to it was so very like Guunthra.

“One! Begin!”

Anna blew the whistle again and quickly backpedaled away from the opposing teams, who had now drawn wooden weapons. Camilla was first to act, surging towards Minerva with her axe held high.

_“I’ve had her as an ally and an enemy, and I can confirm that Minerva is a serious threat.” Marth had muttered. Both Ogma and Sheema nodded in agreement, and Laegjarn almost did herself. She rapped her fingernails on the table as she considered their options._

_“We need to keep her out of the fighting as long as possible, then. Camilla, I trust you’re up to the task?” Laegjarn turned to the Nohrian, who giggled._

_“It would be an absolute pleasure, dear.”_

She’d heard rumors that Camilla was an absolute terror in combat, but Laegjarn still felt her eyes widen in shock at the sheer fervor with which she attacked Minerva. Every swing of her axe felt like watching a wild bear swipe at its prey, churning through the sky in an unrelenting assault. Minerva, for her part, managed to parry each blow as it game, but she was quickly losing ground, so to speak. If this was how Camilla fought when she was holding back, Laegjarn was suddenly very thankful that she never had to confront her when they were enemies.

Far below, the remainder of her team was slowly moving backwards, towards the lines of topiaries and shrubs that cut across the lavish courtyard.

“Retreating already?” Soren spoke without looking at Laegjarn, a crooked smile on his face. “Do you have something up your sleeve, Princess? Or is this just an early surrender?” The roar of battle below made Laegjarn feel like her old self, and she let a grin appear in response.

“Taunt me if you like, Soren, if it helps soothe the pain of your coming defeat.”

_“Two cavaliers and a wyvern rider?” Hrid grimaced. “They’re certainly mobile. Can we counteract that somehow? It’s not as if Castle Askr is filled with trenches or barricades we can use.”_

_Laegjarn craned her neck to look out the window, noting the greenery that covered the grounds. “Well, not intentionally…”_

Unfortunately, even with their immediate movements, Laegjarn’s team (Henry had suggested the name “Blood Spillers”, but she was reluctant to actually use it) was quickly flanked by the pair of cavaliers, moving with swift rushes towards each side of the formation. The redhead (Cain, she thought?) raised his sword and began to harry Marth, while his companions (Abel, then.) mirrored his movements against Fjorm. They were both able to repel the attacks, but Laegjarn had seen enough combat to know that doing any real damage wasn’t the objective of a cavalry rush like this. Cain and Abel had to be working to slow the group down, trying to keep them reaching any safe terrain before the main force could catch up. As she expected, Laegjarn lifted her head slightly to see the remainder of Soren’s forces rushing forward, Ryoma in the lead with his wooden katana held high. They were gaining on the retreating group, but thankfully, Laegjarn had armed them with a plan.

Even from so far away, she could hear the shrill sound of Henry’s diabolic cackle. Laegjarn stifled a laugh at the way Soren rolled his eyes in response. Down below, the pale dark mage was swirling a torrent of dark purple energy above his head, which churned and fluctuated like a mad stormcloud. Bolts of lightning crackled towards it from the pair of enemy mages, but Henry’s casting could not be interrupted. With a flash of deep violet light that made the hair on her arms stand on end, Laegjarn watched as a horde of spectral crows poured out of the portal, squawking and shrieking in unearthly tones.

“That’s...new.” muttered Soren’s companion. His eyebrow was quirked upwards, and his attention seemed to finally be torn from the remnants of his meal. Soren was gripping the arms of his chair, clearly clenching his teeth at the sight of such an irregular battle tactic. For a moment, he locked eyes with Laegjarn, but swiftly returned his gaze to the battlefield.

The flock of phantasmal beasts swirled about the courtyard, flying in front of Soren’s battalion and harassing its members with haunting sounds and ghostly claws. A few stray illusions even made their way into the sky where Camilla and Minerva were still clashing, fluttering around in the Macedonian’s range of attack. Even Cain and Abel broke out of their usual synchronized attack, each suddenly flailing their weapons at the offending birds. Amidst the disarray, Henry stood with his arms splayed, laughing at the top of his lungs as his pets sewed chaos.

He barely had a chance to see the Hoshidan woman coming as she sprinted out of the opposing formation, her ponytail whipping through the air as she made a beeline for the dark mage. Swiftly, she hurled a pair of shuriken, each of which sunk itself into the soft innards of Henry’s tome. The force was enough to knock it from his hands, and his laughter stopped abruptly as the ninja hit him with a full force shoulder tackle. Anna’s whistle sounded to mark the Plegian’s elimination from the battle, and the ghostly crows faded away as the spell stopped.

Still, Henry had accomplished his goal, and the other members of their team on the ground had successfully concealed themselves within the shrubbery. Or so, at least, Laegjarn hoped the enemy would assume.

_“So once we’ve riled them up and distracted them, we can get a better defensive position. I like it, but we’re gonna need to fight back too.” Legault fiddled with the dagger in his belt, running a few fingers over the faint green markings on the battle map. “Wish we had a couple archers.”_

_“As do I.” replied Sheema. “They’ll be expecting a retaliation from our new position, so there’s not much this group can do without getting right in range of the enemy.”_

_“Unless…” Laegjarn fixed Legault with a weak smile. “Someone’s not where they were expecting.”_

“What? Look behind you!” Soren fumed. Down below, Legault had risen to his full height from the tall grass he dove into during the crow barrage. Moving in bounding steps, the assassin was behind the male mage in mere seconds, gingerly pulling the tome out of the shocked caster’s hands. Laegjarn could almost see the cheeky grin on his face from the stands. The whistle came once more, and suddenly the rest of Soren’s group took notice.

“An ambush! Kagero, go!” Ryoma’s commanding voice echoed across the courtyard, and the ninja took note. In a crisp move, she abandoned her task of hurling shuriken at the topiary and began to dash towards Legault. With that, Legault took his leave, running across the field, away from the battle, with Kagero in hot pursuit. Whispers and cheers rose from the modest crowd on the castle balconies, and Laegjarn could feel Guunthra tugging at her sleeve to try and get her to pay attention to the sudden chase. Still, her eyes stayed on the skies, fixed on the wyvern knights battling.

Camilla and Minerva were both extremely seasoned riders, and they had fought together long enough to know one another’s patterns in combat. The fact that they were now stuck in a stalemate, parrying each other's blows carefully, was not a surprise to Laegjarn, nor was the fact that Camilla was starting to waver. While the Nohrian had the advantage in pure ferocity, Princess Minerva was renowned for her stamina in battle. Soren seemed to be noticing as well, intently focused on the aerial showdown while his hands gripped the sides of his chair’s armrests. Thankfully, the fight didn’t need to go on much longer.

Legault brought his fingers to his lips and blew, sounding a piercing whistle that easily carried across the crisp morning air. In response, Camilla’s wyvern pulled into a vertical flip, barely dodging an open sweep of Minerva’s axe. Suddenly, it dove down, streaking across the battlefield in an ebony blur. Beneath the shadow of leathery wings, Legault turned, taking the opportunity to fling a blunted dagger in Kagero’s direction. Despite the chaos, the ninja was alert to be taken off-guard by such an openly presented attack. She rolled to the left, and came up utterly shocked when she collided with the recently-landed wyvern, Camilla grinning down at her from its back. The princess gently pressed the wooden axe against Kagero’s forehead, prompting Anna to blow the whistle again before taking off to avoid Minerva’s pursuit. 

“Interesting. Made us think your wyvern rider wouldn’t be a threat for just long enough to let her swoop in for a kill.” The anger was gone from Soren’s voice now, and the tactician was simply jotting notes down in his book. “Would I be correct in assuming that’s out of your personal bag of tricks, General?” Laegjarn responded with a nod, still too absorbed in the battle below to provide much detail, and glad to have the excuse to avoid too much socializing. 

With both side’s forces now scattered across the battlefield, the skirmish devolved from coordinated group tactics to more individual combat. Anna’s whistle came twice in quick succession as the twin riders, Cain and Abel, managed to successfully outflank Ogma, and one of Legault’s throwing weapons dislodged the tome from the female mage’s hands. In the center of the courtyard, Marth burst forth from his cover within the shrubs, raising his blade in challenge to Ryoma’s.

“Stand back!” called the Hoshidan prince to his allies, “This fight is mine!” Both princes were clearly masters of their craft, neither gaining any obvious ground on the other at first. Wooden blades clashed in the morning sun, finding common ground despite the clear differences in their styles. Marth held his weapon in one hand, keeping a rigid posture and mobilizing with hops and thrusts. Ryoma’s strikes were more fluid, often curving with his body in wide arcs, looking more like a dancer than a knight. Despite the action of the combat around them, no one dared interfere, or perhaps simply didn’t want to.

Laegjarn only took her eyes off of their duel when the whistle sounded again. Judging by the aftermath of scattered leaves and a dismounted knight, Fjorm had leapt from the topiary lance-first, knocking Abel from his steed in a surprise assault. Cain came galloping towards his fallen friend, blade raised to strike Fjorm down in revenge, but a metal gauntlet sprung forth from the shrubbery and caught the back of his cape, bringing him tumbling to the ground with a resounding crash. Sheema disentangled herself from her hiding place as the whistle sounded, then sounded again as a stunned Cain barely managed to lift his sword up to her throat. They left the field arm-in-arm, with the armored princess offering her weight for the knight to lean on.

“Nice to see that some friendships aren’t easily broken!” Guunthra quipped. She gave Laegjarn what she thought was a knowing smile, but it quickly gave way to a chuckle and rolled eyes when she noticed the flame princess was still utterly entranced by the mock battle. She made quick eye contact with Soren, whose date (That was a date, right? Wait, was THIS a date?) seemed to be in a similar state of reverie.

Camilla finally fell soon afterwards, missing a heavy swipe at Minerva’s midsection and giving her opponent room to slice off the head of her axe. The Macedonian princess offered a short nod to the crowd, her eyes locked on her sister before diving towards the fray below, her wyvern screeching in triumph. Ryoma finally managed to get revenge for his defeated retainer, deflecting a strike from behind by an approaching Legault and flattening the assassin with a knee strike. The samurai quickly bounced back, preparing to turn on Prince Marth before finding the Altean’s blade placed at his throat. The whistle sounded twice as Minerva arrived, descending on Marth in a flurry of wings and pommel strikes. Laegjarn couldn’t exactly tell what happened, due to the wyvern in front of her, but soon enough the whistle came once more, Marth walked off of the field, and only two combatants remained on either side.

Hrid and Fjorm emerged from their cover, facing down Minerva and the mysterious unarmed man. Hrid pointed his blade towards him in a challenge, and the audience was suddenly alive with confused whispers and scattered excited exclamations. Laegjarn cast her gaze at Soren, only to see a subtle grin adorning his stark features. His companion seemed to share the enthusiasm, catching Laegjarn’s eyes and chuckling.

“You’ve never seen Mordecai fight, have you?”

The massive man suddenly dropped to all fours, his body suddenly shifting and changing in a soft glow. His arms lengthened and his back snapped upwards as his form changed, leaving an utterly shocked Laegjarn staring at the towering beast where the man once stood. It reared its head back, roaring at the sun while blue tufts of fur rippled in the morning light. To Hrid’s credit, he held his ground, gripping his weapon with both hands as he rushed the beast.

“How did he…” Guunthra looked at Soren, incredulous, as the tactician chuckled.

“Laguz. It’s simply another form for him. I was surprised to learn there are none native to Zenith.” 

The larger man next to Soren nodded. “Mordecai there was a great ally to us. We were lucky enough to have powerful friends.”

Powerful was an apt word to describe Mordecai, as the spectators quickly discovered. He circled Hrid like prey, snarling as his paws effortlessly trampled the dirt below. When the prince lashed out with a horizontal slash, the beast flattened itself, letting out a slight yelp as the blade collided with only the tips of its ears. That certainly wasn’t enough to hold Mordecai back, though, as he responded with a lunge and swipe with a paw that sent his opponent reeling, barely able to block the next blow.

“And this is with the claws retracted.” Soren muttered.

With the sheer amount of awe surrounding the Laguz, very few eyes were on Minerva and Fjorm’s duel, though that certainly didn’t seem to bother either of them very much. Minerva’s technique looked quite a bit more like Camilla’s now, using the massive size advantage her mount provided her to press an aggressive assault on the princess of Nifl. Laegjarn studied the wyvern rider’s movements closely, admittedly for selfish reasons. She couldn’t help but imagine herself in Fjorm’s place, mentally trying to plan blocks for each of Minerva’s strikes before they came. To her dismay, the princess didn’t seem to leave any obvious windows open for attack, moving with a precision and discipline that spoke of years of training and conditioning. Fjorm’s stance was a little bit less steady, the younger woman not quite having the same level of experience.

A roar shook the air as Mordecai pounced at Hrid once more, bulging front legs extended in an attempt to overtake the prince. Seemingly finally noticing an opening in the Laguz’s movement, he swept his blade around his body, putting a substantial amount of force into a powerful uppercut. There was an audible crack as the wood collided with the tiger, knocking the soaring Mordecai off course and sending him crumpling to the ground. Before he could rise again, Hrid was standing over him, lightly resting his sword on the beast’s neck. The whistle blew, and Mordecai shifted once more, standing on two legs once more as his body contorted back into the shape of a human man. He extended a meaty hand to Hrid, and both of them watched as Fjorm and Minerva’s battle continued.

“Ugh! He’s not even helping her! I’ll bet he’s just trying to bother me!” While Guunthra’s fuming was tempting to watch, Laegjarn’s full attention remained on the final battle below.

Fjorm was rallying, the blow of the whistle seeming to invigorate her, and she was starting to advance on the snarling wyvern. It was at this point that Laegjarn would have directed her wyvern to bite at the enemy, but given that this was a friendly battle, she sincerely hoped that would be a tactic Minerva refrained from. The Macedonian instead gently tugged on the reins of her mount, directing it upwards with a mighty flutter of wings. Rider and wyvern alike let loose a war cry as the beast flew downwards again, aiming to overwhelm Fjorm with sheer size and force. As Minerva reared back with her axe, the speed of the descent blowing her hair backwards, Fjorm hopped backwards and took aim. To the excitement of the crowd, icy magic began to glow in her hands, forming a crystal coating around the training spear. With a grunt, Fjorm hurled the weapon forward and rolled out of the way. The blunt weapon struck Minerva in the gut, and the expert rider finally lost her grip. Merely a few feet from impact, the princess toppled from the saddle, colliding with the dirt in a pile of crimson armor.

The final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted in applause. Pride swelled in Laegjarn as she rose to her feet, beaming down at Fjorm. The princess seemed exhausted, but adrenaline kept her on her feet, gleefully waving up at her tactician and beloved older sister, with Hrid soon joining the gesture.

“Well, it seems you’ve improved.” Soren rose from his seat, courteously nodding in Laegjarn’s direction. “This makes us even, so I do hope we’ll settle it someday.” 

“It would be my pleasure.” she replied. The young-looking strategist quickly departed the balcony to return to the castle, his friend close behind after offering an exuberant wave. Guunthra was grinning ear to ear.

“You know how proud of you I am, right?”

Laegjarn cocked her head, confusion evident on her face.

“You might not be able to see it, Laegjarn, but you’ve come a long way.” Guunthra nodded her head, placing a palm on the taller woman’s shoulder. “I’m glad to call you my ally in our fight.”

Before the heat could rise to Laegjarn’s cheeks and something tragically unrefined could spill from her lips, the contented screech of a wyvern filled the empty air. A jet-black mount rose from beneath the balcony, Camilla perched on its back. Smiling, she tapped the open saddle behind her.

“Come on, dear, everyone’s waiting to celebrate with you, you know!”

Conflicted, Laegjarn glanced back at Guunthra, only to be met with a soft smile and a glint in her teal eyes.

“If you don’t go, you should know I’ll be icing your neck for a week. Just saying.”

Laughing, Laegjarn climbed onto the wyvern, offering a goodbye wave to her roommate as she descended towards her victorious allies.

The atmosphere in the courtyard was nothing short of electric, with spectators and combatants alike gleefully discussing the recent skirmish. Several of her teammates came forth to invite Laegjarn into conversations, but she dismissed them for now. It wasn’t so much a sense of unworthiness or distance as before, those feelings, while still a daily struggle, were not as severe as they had once been. Instead, she felt a different urge, one fueled by the adrenaline of watching combat again and the triumph of a victory.

Her eyes were locked securely on Minerva, standing on the side of the arena with her little sister by her side.

Here, Laegjarn knew, she had purpose. If there was a reason her heart was still beating, it had to be to protect, to atone for the things she’d done by defending the innocent. Her power was meant for the powerless now, the kinds of people her father abused and twisted into his victims and his soldiers. The key to her future was not throwing away her past, but embracing it, and she would ensure that she could do so.

“Minerva.”

A steeled amber gaze met her own.

“I’m challenging you. I will take Niu back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like writing fight scenes, so I wrote in...a fight scene that lasts an entire chapter. And there are more coming?
> 
> Whoops! Thanks for your continued patience.


	10. Her Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laegjarn reclaims something she's lost.

It wasn’t until nearly midnight that Laegjarn told her roommate about the challenge she had issued. The princess of Nifl had gone silent when she heard, pulling the comforter on their bed closer over her chest.

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

Guunthra wore an uncommon look of concern, her pale features twisted into a frown. Laegjarn turned on her side to face her.

“I am. It’s something I have to go through with.”

Her challenge to Minerva had been readily accepted. The Macedonian had smiled, looking almost excited at the prospect. “Agreed.” she had responded, placing a hand on her hip and tossing matted hair from her eyes, seemingly keen to let Laegjarn get a look at Niu’s scabbard still slung against her back. “How does tomorrow in the second floor training area sound. Noontime?”

“Agreed.”

Duels were an ancient part of Muspell’s culture. Legend had it that the Flame Dragon had first claimed the land in a fierce duel with an ancient god, the Obsidian Golem. It was said that their pitched battle forged the landscape itself, with the dragon’s blood pooling into lakes of lava and the golem’s torn flesh settling as mountains. The kingdom was built on combat, and its people were forged in it even before Surtr’s reign.

As a princess, Laegjarn herself engaged in very few official duels. She’d often served as judge to ones between troops under her command, which was mostly simply a fancy way of saying she tried to tear them apart before her own soldiers could gut each other. There was no real sense in losing perfectly good fighters before combat even began. That she now found herself initiating a duel felt rather foreign to her, but with all the other oddities that had happened in the past few weeks, Laegjarn didn’t think much of it.

Now, back in bed, she didn’t have any regrets, even if Guunthra seemed to.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Laegjarn.” Guunthra exhaled, shaking her head and letting her rose-colored hair tumble about her face. “It’s not exactly easy watching my siblings and my roommate go to battle against our allies.”

“It’s not going to be a lethal combat, Guunthra.” She was rather grateful to hear that, apparently in Askr, non-lethal duels were an option. “We’ll have a healer on standby.”

Guunthra sighed. “I know, it’s just...seeing people I care for in pain is never pleasurable. I don’t want to see any of you hurting.”

The memory of her conversation with Hrid and Fjorm came to the forefront of Laegjarn’s mind. Guunthra was the type to throw herself in front of any misfortune that might befall those close to her. She’d known soldiers like that, even in Muspell, and they so often ended up dead. A shiver ran up her spine as she realized that, yes, Guunthra was dead, and so was she. There were, of course, extenuating circumstances, but they had each already once come to the end of their lives and been pulled back by a miracle. And what was the point of a second life if you didn’t use it?

Laegjarn stretched a hand out towards Guunthra’s side of the bed, aiming her most reassuring smile at her roommate.

“I won’t leave you, Guunthra. I promised I’d fight by your side, didn’t I?”

Guunthra’s features softened before she quickly buried her head into the pillow, pointing her face away from Laegjarn’s gaze. 

“You did. I’ll hold you to that! So get some sleep, I want you to be at your best!”

One of her cold hands slowly wrapped itself around Laegjarn’s warm one, squeezing it tightly as she burrowed further under the covers. Laegjarn couldn’t help but smile.

“Goodnight, Guunthra.”

“Goodnight, Laegjarn.”

There were a pair of unusual faces waiting in the lobby area outside of Laegjarn’s dormitory that morning. Sitting across from eachother on a pair of chairs were Sir Jagen and the hulking form of Helbindi. Judging by the uncomfortable silence in the room as Laegjarn entered, quietly to avoid waking the still-slumbering Guunthra, they hadn’t exactly been lively conversation partners.

“Well, if it ain’t the General in the flesh.” Helbindi sneered, and Laegjarn wasn’t sure if it was meant to be affectionate or demeaning. “Fate’s funny, huh?”

She nodded. “It is. It’s good to see you again, Helbindi.”

“Tch.” He looked away, and Jagen raised an eyebrow before speaking.

“Good morning, Princess Laegjarn.”

“Good morning, Jagen.”

The old soldier stretched as he slowly stood, wobbling slightly as he reached his full height and clasped his hands behind his back. “I simply wished to congratulate you on your adept strategizing in yesterday’s mock battle. Prince Marth was most impressed with your work, or so he told me.”

A grin spread slowly across Laegjarn’s face. Victory was a sensation she hadn’t felt in what felt like far too long, and it was a pleasant reminder that she was still capable of smiling. It certainly didn’t wipe any of the blood from her hands or repay the debts she felt she owed, but it made her feel like accomplishing those things was a possibility in the future. She’d pull her weight for the Order, but she wasn’t content to simply do so off the battlefield.

A door slowly opened from the eastern side of the lobby, and Fjorm emerged with Ylgr close at her heels until she caught full sight of Helbindi.

“You came!” 

The young girl rushed across the floor, smiling wide at the grizzled Muspellian general in the center of the room, She wrapped her arms around one of his muscular legs, and the bulky man groaned.

“Of course I came, you little punk! Did you think I’d just lie to you like that, kid?” Helbindi rolled his eyes. “I swear, can’t get you to take me seriously at all.”

Fjorm laughed as she approached, tossing a brief wave in Laegjarn’s direction. “Good morning, Laegjarn. Good morning, Helbindi. And hello, Sir Jagen! A pleasure to see you here!”

Jagen responded with a bow, and Laegjarn waved back.

“Good morning to you as well, Fjorm.” She bent her knees, squatting to Ylgr’s height as she waved. “And you too, Ylgr.”

Ylgr’s eyes went wide, and she quickly swiveled herself behind one of Helbindi’s legs. Laegjarn tried to conceal her crestfallen expression, but Helbindi’s sudden exclamation made her quickly realize it was fruitless to do so.

“Hey, whoa, kid, what are you doing?” Helbindi lightly pushed a palm against Ylgr’s side, trying to pry her off of his leg. “The hell’s wrong with you?” A sudden silence settled over the room.

“She’s scary. She hurt my sisters.”

Fjorm’s face fell, and she seemed to be moving to object, but Helbindi spoke up before she could.

“Oh yeah? The General’s scary, huh? Yeah, I get it, she’s got one of those faces, doesn’t she? Looks like she’s always lookin’ down on ya. Trust me, I know.” He directed his sneer back at Laegjarn, who was doing her best to somehow soften the muscles in her face into her least threatening smile. “But I’ve told you about my sister, right?”

Ylgr nodded her head, still not looking anywhere near the Flame Princess.

“Yeah, Menja. Good kid, you remind me a lot of her.”

While Laegjarn had never met Menja herself, she’d certainly heard a lot about her. Helbindi, during the brief time he was under her command, often rambled about his sister after a few drops of alcohol made it down his throat, and sometimes even completely sober. According to his words, Menja was everything that an older brother could ask for. She was kind, hard-working, smart, funny, and Laegjarn believed every word of it, because Helbindi was far from the type to give idle praise. Unfortunately, her father also knew how much he cared for her. Even when she was still devoted to Surtr, the news that her father had burned Helbindi’s home to the ground after their failure to stop the Order had made her want to vomit. She would never forget the look in his eyes when she told him that his sweet little sister was dead, a senseless casualty in a war she would never understand.

That, she thought, had to be the reason he seemed to care so much for Ylgr.

“Well, the general over there, scary as she is, always wanted me to get back to her. And she tried her damnedest to give me that chance.” Helbindi looked up at Laegjarn, and Ylgr slowly followed his gaze. “I’ll tell ya, she ain’t perfect, but you can do a lot worse than her. If you ain’t afraid of me, you shouldn’t be worried about her.”

Slowly, Laegjarn sunk to her knees, a position that brought up painful memories, but ones she managed to quickly banish.

“I’m very sorry, Ylgr. I did hurt your sisters, yes.” She tried her best to smile. “That was a mistake, and I’m not proud. But I promise you, I won’t ever hurt them again, and if I can help it, I’ll make sure no one else does either. I want to make things right this time.”

“It’s true.” Fjorm whispered. Jagen nodded in affirmation, but stayed silent.

Slowly, Ylgr seemed to take in the words. She took a few small steps towards Laegjarn and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Okay. I won’t be afraid of you anymore. But if you break your promise, I’m gonna tell Helbindi on you!”

As she burst into a grin, she could hear Helbindi start to guffaw in the distance.

“Holy crap, kid, lay down the law, will ya? But yeah, sure, if the princess gives you any trouble, I’ll come around and set her straight. Can’t have you whining at me all day. Now come on, I told ya I’d take you to the stables today and the horses ain’t gonna wait forever.”

Squealing slightly, Ylgr raced out of the room, leaving Helbindi to groan as he pushed himself to his feet, glowering at the room’s other occupants.

“Thank you, Helbindi.” Laegjarn said.

With a scoff, Helbindi shook her gratitude away. “Didn’t want the little brat crying all over me, that’s all. Save it.”

Jagen chuckled. “You seem to be an honorable man, Sir Helbindi.”

Now entirely flummoxed, Helbindi muttered a string of curses under his breath as he stomped out of the lobby and after Ylgr. Fjorm’s eyes quickly found Laegjarn’s.

“Are you nervous about today?” Her typically calm voice was tinged with a faint bit of worry. Laegjarn shook her head.

“We’ll have a healer present, as I told Guunthra. I’m flattered you both asked, though.”

Fjorm smiled. “Of course. You’re quite dear to us now, you know.”

A slight blush rose to Laegjarn’s face, and she thought she saw a grin stretching across Jagen’s face before she averted her eyes. “Thank you. I won’t let any of you down.”

“Hmmph.” Jagen coughed. “Well, if you’re going to be facing off with Minerva, you’ll need to get some stretches in. Come on, let’s get moving to the training grounds! We’ll spar!”

He had made it about halfway to the exit before turning around and seeing both Fjorm and Laegjarn giving him incredulous looks. “Underestimate me at your own peril, Princess.” Jagen chuckled, resuming his walk. “I may be old and senile, but I’ll bet I’m still more than a match for the likes of you!”

Despite Laegjarn’s initial worries, the old man turned out to be quite a sprightly fighter, even now. Their exercises seemed to fly by, and before she knew it, a familiar redhead pushed her way through the training room door.

Minerva had foregone her usual ornamental armor, now clad in a simple linen tanktop and long cloth trousers. The scabbard of Niu was an odd sight on her unarmored back, glistening lightly in the light that streamed in from the midday sun. She scanned the room, giving swift nods of acknowledgement to both Laegjarn and Jagen as she approached.

Behind her was a younger girl with red hair, likely only a little older than Ylgr. It was the same healer she had noticed sitting on the side of the courtyard during the Mock Battle, which meant this had to be Maria. Unlike Ylgr, there was no fear in Maria’s eyes, though. She smiled wide and separated from her older sister to walk to Jagen’s side. As the old knight wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they began to speak, Minerva cleared her throat.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday, you did good work at the mock battle.”

“Thank you, but it was my team that did the work.” Laegjarn replied, slightly taken aback at the unexpected praise.

Minerva shuffled her feet, a frown teasing the edge of her face. “Yes...I should apologize for the way I responded to you, you know, when it happened. I was upset, and I let my emotions get the upper hand. It wasn’t right to do that to you.”

“I understand. I’m not proud of how I acted either.”

There was a lengthy pause, neither princess being particularly skilled at apologizing or social graces. Eventually, Minerva spoke again.

“If you wish, I will return your blade.”

Laegjarn shook her head.

“Not until I’ve proven I deserve it.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

“You have nothing to prove to me.”

“I never said it was you I need to prove it to, Minerva.”

It was true, Laegjarn realized, this was never about Minerva. She’d not even noticed Niu was gone until she happened upon it, so this wasn’t about the sword either. Surtr had taught her that her only worth was on the battlefield, as a weapon to be used until it shattered. This, though, wasn’t Surtr’s fight, nor was it Alfonse’s, nor the Summoner’s, nor even Gunnthra’s.

This was the first battle Laegjarn had chosen to wage herself. It was one she was determined to see through to the end.

From the far wall of the training room, Jagen approached, a wooden practice sword clenched in each hand. As he handed a weapon to each combatant, he gave them an appraising glance.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind if I served as referee?”

“Not at all.” Minerva replied, taking the wooden sword and beginning to unlatch the scabbard from her back. “Laegjarn?”

“I’d be honored, Sir Jagen.”

“Ho ho! No buttering up the officials, young one. I won’t be swayed so easily.” Jagen said, chuckling as he accepted Niu from Minerva. “Right then. I want a clean battle. No unnecessary cruelty. Surrender must be immediately accepted! Is our healer prepared?”

Maria quickly hopped up from her position against the wall, waving an open palm. “Yes! But be careful!”

“Indeed.” Jagen took a few lengthy steps backwards, distancing himself from the epicenter of the coming battle. “Shake hands, then separate three paces!” Minerva extended one of her hands, smiling lightly at her opponent.

“Don’t think my mercy means I’ll be going easy on you. I don’t plan to falter twice in two days.”

Laegjarn’s hand linked with hers, shaking it firmly.

“I’d be disappointed to see anything but your best, Princess Minerva. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity.”

After breaking apart, each princess took three steps away from one another. The room was thick with tension and silence, both combatants prepared for battle.

“Ready!” Jagen’s voice boomed, echoing off the walls. “Set! Begin!”

Any sense of gentle respect Minerva put off before the bout was immediately shed as Jagen began the duel. The Macedonian princess rushed forward, blade hefted for an immediate swipe. She gave a guttural shout as her sword careened down towards Laegjarn’s torso, only barely deflected by a frantic parry. The force of the blow still managed to force Laegjarn backwards a few steps, the reverberations of Minerva’s strike still felt in her arms.

She hadn’t expected that much ferocity from her opponent. Clearly she had taken some inspiration from Camilla’s performance.

Laegjarn swapped to a defensive stance, gripping the wooden handle with both hands and holding the blade before her. Minerva’s eyes blazed with determination as she advanced on her, weapon poised for another strike. She chuckled, a deep throaty sound.

“You’ll need to do better than that.”

Minerva unleashed another flurry of strikes, swinging the sword in short movements designed for speed rather than power. Thankfully, Laegjarn had weathered many such storms in her day, and typically they were intended to kill her. She managed to swipe away each hit, searching for an opening in the pattern Minerva seemed to be wisely changing. Working defensively forever wouldn’t win her this fight.

Laegjarn waited patiently for Minerva’s next big attack, seizing her opportunity when she noticed the princess’s shoulders swinging back in preparation for a horizontal slash. As soon as Minerva reached the apex of her windup, Laegjarn brought her sword down, crashing it against the part of Minerva’s blade closest to the handle. As Minerva scrambled to keep hold of her weapon, Laegjarn surged forward, forcefully burying her elbow in Minerva’s chest.

Minerva wobbled backwards, hacking and sputtering from the blow. Laegjarn took the offensive, letting loose a series of wild chops. Each met with Minerva’s blade, but Laegjarn could feel the aftershocks of her opponent’s resistance getting steadily weaker. She raised her weapon and brought it down on Minerva’s shoulder. A sudden shock of guilt ran through her as she heard Minerva shout in pain, her sword clattering to the ground. Laegjarn swiveled to look at Maria, noting the shock in the young cleric’s eyes with a mounting sense of dread.

She’d done it again. No matter where she went, she spread pain and misery, just like Surtr, just like she’d always been destined to do, she couldn’t-

“Taking your eyes off of your opponent, Laegjarn?”

The sound of Minerva’s rasping voice brought her out of the guilty spiral.

“I don’t remember surrendering!”

Minerva sprung up from the floor, moving as a scarlet blur through the air before she collided with Laegjarn. With what must have been adrenaline-fueled strength, Minerva grappled with her opponent, her pained grimace slowly giving way to a wide grin at Laegjarn’s apparent surprise. Her blade arm was forced downwards, and Minerva’s fingers started to scratch away at hers, trying to pry the weapon from her grasp. Unable to contend with the force of Minerva’s unexpected reversal, Laegjarn was forced to drop her sword, suddenly finding herself unarmed against an opponent much further from defeat than she had expected.

With a surprising amount of force, Minerva shoved Laegjarn away, quickly scrambling to try and grab the blade on the ground. Thankfully, Surtr’s rigorous training regimen hadn’t only prepared his daughter for a “fair” fight. The concept didn’t exist in Muspell. She dove forward, propelling herself into Minerva’s side and sending the both of them sprawling to the floor in a heap.

Panting, Minerva raised her hand, waving at both her little sister and the referee. “Alright, that’s enough. I’m finished. Give it to her.”

Jagen’s voice rang out in a joyous declaration. “Princess Laegjarn is victorious!”

There was no applause or burst of cheers, but Laegjarn could still feel the rush of winning pour through her body, a grin springing to her face as she steadily rose to her knees. Jagen was shaking his head as Maria chanted a quiet spell into her staff, which seemed to emanate a calming aura that soothed her aching muscles.

“I don’t recall hand-to-hand being on the agenda, Princess Minerva!” Jagen called.

With a scoff, Minerva stood. “Had to make sure she was ready for anything. I’m sure you understand, right?” She reached down, offering a hand to help pull Laegjarn to her feet. As the princess of flame regained her balance, Jagen approached, the scabbard of Niu in his arms. He extended it towards Laegjarn.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

She took it gracefully, or as gracefully as she could with her hair unkempt and her joints aching from a battle. As she slid the sword from its resting place, the blade pulsed with warmth, its internal flame seeming to activate once more in the hands of its true master. 

Niu’s history had been written in blood and conquest, but if there was anything Laegjarn had learned in her time with the Order, it was that legacies could be reshaped. 

“I’ll use it well.”

Elsewhere, in the kingdom of Nifl, the sky tore itself asunder. Metal boots crushed fresh-fallen snow as hordes of soldiers tromped out of a twisting violet portal.

Atop a nearby hill, a sorceress sneered, twisting a staff in her hands.

“Ooh. I already love the look of this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey we're done with fight scenes for a while, maybe things will be better!


End file.
